Masquerade
by ohgoditsbriony
Summary: She will follow the White Rabbit. She will fall in love with the Mad Hatter. She will kill the Queen of Hearts. But fairytales don't always have a Happily Ever After and she doesn't believe in her Once Upon a Time. —Sasuke/Sakura
1. zéro: castle in the air

**project: **masquerade  
**disclaimer: **i do not own naruto, or the characters in it, or wonderland.  
**summary: **she will follow the white rabbit. she will fall in love with the mad hatter. she will kill the queen of hearts. but fairytales don't always have a happily ever after and she doesn't believe in once upon a times.  
**pairings: **sasusaku  
**notes: **boy, do i adore the mad hatter. times one million trillion billion kisses and hot showers.  
**chapter: **zéro: castle in the air

* * *

_Once upon a time, there was a girl with fair hair and a bright blue dress—tired of listening to her older sister read, she decided to follow a curious rabbit down a deep dark rabbit hole into a world of Wonders._

_She stepped into Wonderland._

_She was the first person the play the Game._

**.**

**.**

"Welcome to the Game, Alice."

She—_Alice_—tilted her head, confused, and smiled good-naturedly—"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. My name isn't Alice and I wasn't aware I was playing any sort of game."

He smiled slightly, tipping his hat over his eyes and reclining in his chair. "You won't win the Game with that sort of attitude, Alice—you need to be strong and sure of yourself—you need to win to save us all. Of course, there will be those who will try to stop you—selfish and cowardly as they are—but you'll have to win, for us. We will help you as best as we can. You'll have to trust us."

Alice shook her head, backing slowly away from the curious man sat at the end of the long table. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about; but this is just a dream and as soon as I pinch myself, I'll be right back by the riverside, with Dinah."

The man stood up, slamming both of his hands onto the table. "You can't run away now, Alice—not when we need you most," He quirked his head, his smile widening, sinisterly so. "Do _you _know why a raven is like a writing desk?"

She blinked.

"You're mad."

He sunk back into his chair, slowly, still smiling.

"Oh, we're all mad here, _Alice._"

**.**

**.**

_The first Alice played the Game and won. She defeated the Queen of Hearts and set free all of the inhabitants of Wonderland. She never returned to Wonderland afterwards—her memory of the dreaded place was wiped clean—and so she could never warn anyone _not _to follow the White Rabbit._

_The next Alice didn't know any better. She followed willingly and she faced the same terrors as the Alice before her._

_She simply wasn't as lucky._

**.**

**.**

"What do we do?" The White Rabbit asked, distressed. "Alice was beaten—Alice was _killed! _Oh, she was fed to the Jabberwocky—the dreaded Jabberwocky—_what do we do?"_

The Mad Hatter smiled slightly, watching the current White Rabbit panic, and tilted his hat down over his eyes. He leant back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and resting them on his chest, blowing out slowly. "…We wait, my dear Rabbit. We wait for the next Alice and hope she sets us free; and, if not, we wait for the next Alice and then the one after and the one after that and then the one after _that_—"

"—how can you just sit here and _wait?_" The Rabbit cried. "I don't want to be stuck here forever! The Queen of Hearts is smart; she knows who Alice's allies are; she could defeat us at any given moment; she could kill us _whenever she wants!_ How can you just sit here and _WAIT?"_

The Hatter sighed.

"Because I have to."

The White Rabbit's mouth dropped open, as if about to speak, but the Hatter cut him off.

"_You _have to as well," He continued, sitting up and reaching forwards for a trusty cup of tea and a slice of buttered bread. "We _all _have to sit here and wait—because, at night, we're trapped in Wonderland—and we will never be free until Alice saves us. So we have to wait and trust her."

The Rabbit sat down and crossed his arms. "…Well, I don't like it. I wish we could do more than this."

The Hatter took a sip of his tea—it was cold—and then smiled. "Maybe the Rules will be changed. Maybe we will be able to do more than this, in years to come—but, until now, we have to sit and wait for the next Alice." He eyed the Rabbit's sullen expression, before beaming at him.

"Until then… would you like a cup of tea?"

**.**

**.**

_An Alice is hard to spot. She is the one who believes the hardest. She is the one who smiles the brightest. She is the one who listens the longest. She is as curious as a cat. She is as sharp as a knife. _

_She has a strong heart. _

_An Alice is not allowed to give up, no matter how much she wants to. An Alice has to understand that everyone is depending on her—she has to realise that there is so much depending on her—she has to decide whether she is weak or strong. She has to decide whether she will kill or be killed. She has to decide whether she can win… _

_Or die trying._

_An Alice is a hero._

**.**

**.**

"Do you know why a raven is like a writing desk?"

Alice scratched her head—she was smart and good at riddles, her teacher had said so—but no matter how much she thought, she could not come up with an answer.

"There's no time for riddles. If you want your freedom, Mad Hatter, you're going to have to get ready to fight with me. We haven't got time for nonsense."

The Hatter smiled.

"There's _always _time for nonsense."

**.**

**.**

The Queen of Hearts sighed, drumming her fingers on the arm of her throne, and glanced about her—her people—_her slaves—_hurried to and fro, arming themselves, ready to defend their Queen against the coming onslaught. As far as she knew, it was always the same—she was evil—she would have to choose either to die willingly to free her people or be killed to free her people; either way, Alice had to kill her.

It always had to be Alice. The Queen sighed again, her nails tap-tap-tapping away at the wood; she leant on her other hand, surveying the scene in a stony silence—always the same. Why did _she _have to be the Queen of Hearts anyway?

She wasn't evil.

"My Queen… Alice has arrived," A frog servant whispered, bowing so low that his nose touched the floor.

The Queen shrugged one shoulder, still tapping her fingers. "So let her in. Why should I fight her? When Alice kills me, I will be set free as well, you know."

The frog servant seemed bewildered. "B—but, your majesty… You'll die! It isn't the same for you as it is for us—you'll really die."

The Queen fixed him with a frosty glare. "Anyone who dies in Wonderland stays dead. You know this. _I _know this. What's the point in trying to fight it? I beat the last Alice and, like a hideous monster, another Alice has just sprouted up in her place. There'll always be another. Always one more for me to try and kill. Always just _one more. _What's the point in trying? Now hurry along and let her in, little frog."

The frog's eyes widened, but he turned and scurried away nonetheless, the tails of his coat flapping in the wind. The Queen watched him go, heaving yet another useless—_helpless_—sigh, and then turned to watch her other servants—not one of them had missed her exchange with the frog servant. They gazed at her, murmuring nervously amongst themselves, meeting each others eyes and then quickly looking away. She smiled bitterly. "Why are you all so surprised? I'm helping you out here. You'll all be free."

No one responded to her; instead they turned away, blushing with shame, confused and unsure of what to do. Alice was coming. They had been told they must fight Alice—they must _kill _Alice—but this Queen…

She… didn't want them to kill Alice?

The door swung open and Alice strode in, followed by the Mad Hatter (as usual) and the White Rabbit (as always); even the Cheshire Cat was there, watching on with its usual amused grin. Behind them were many other inhabitants of Wonderland, all armed with whatever weapons they could get their hands on—instinctively, the Queen's guards raised their swords and spears, defensive and protective.

"Stand down," The Queen said, clearly. "I don't want to fight."

She surveyed this new Alice—she was not as pretty as the last, nor as girlish, but she was stronger and braver, and her flaming red hair made her look fierce. The Queen sighed, gazing out of the window, staring out over Wonderland—over _her_ land—and then let out another heavy, heart-breaking sigh.

"I cannot do it again."

Alice opened her mouth to speak, but the Mad Hatter rested his hand on her arm.

The Queen continued, oblivious.

"I cannot keep freedom from my people, especially since they so obviously long for it," She glanced bitterly at Alice. "_They _can go back, you see—_I can't. _I don't mind though. I suppose death is a freedom of sorts, as well."

Alice's mouth twitched into an equally bitter smile.

"You're giving up?"

The Queen laughed harshly—the sound was loud and fake and it echoed around the giant hall, until she couldn't bear to hear it any longer, and she placed her hands over her ears. For some time, she couldn't meet Alice's steady gaze and she felt as though she were about to sob. Finally, she let out another sigh, although this one was shaky and wobbled greatly.

"Dear Alice…" The Queen smiled, and her smile was so sad it broke Alice's heart. "You can't understand—I'm _not _an evil person. That's why I'm going to chose to do this, for my people—for _Wonderland_—I don't want to be a wicked queen from a fairytale. I've already done that. This time, I'd like to be the hero."

She met Alice's gaze.

"…Please?"

And so Alice stepped forwards, raising her Vorpal sword in her hand, and the Queen of Hearts moved forwards to meet her. They greeted each other in the middle of the hall, before exchanging shaky smiles—then Alice raised the sword high above her head, so that it glinted in the sunlight, and, as it arched it's way towards the Queen's heart, the Queen also placed her hands on the handle and pushed.

Alice was splattered with sticky red blood—there was a significant _moment_, as the Queen and Alice looked straight into each other's eyes; one pair sad and tired, the other shining with triumph, as well as sadness; and then the Queen of Hearts smiled slightly and closed her eyes. Her body fell limp against Alice.

The hall fell completely silent.

When Alice stood up and turned around, she realised there was no one there. She had freed Wonderland. She had freed the Queen of Hearts.

Alice was free.

**.**

**.**

_Not every Alice wins. Not every Alice survives. Not every Alice is set free. After all, this is Real Life. There's not always a happy ending._

**.**

**.**

_Alice never has a choice. The Gateway is never wrong. She is _always _Alice._

_She must save Wonderland, no matter what the cost._

**.**

**.**

"Where is Alice?"

He asked the question quietly, his eyes hidden by the brim of his hat—he was leaning against the doorway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his muddy green tailcoat; an assortment of trinkets hung from the pockets, glittering in the light and, for a moment, the Gateway's eyes were captured by them.

"We… don't know," She stated, rubbing her face nervously. "We've tried looking for her, but we can't find her."

He shifted slightly, his agitation obvious, but still he didn't look at her—instead, he pulled something out of his pocket (a fork, she thought) and considered that. She waited for him to speak, all the while growing more and more nervous, and then finally he broke the silence. "That's your job, isn't it—to find Alice?"

"We've—we've been trying, but we can't find her. We've searched everywhere."

He looked up then, capturing her gaze, and the Gateway found she could not look away. They were so impossibly dark and deep—she felt as though she was the one who had fallen down the rabbit hole, not he—and they seemed even darker so when compared to his pale skin—snow white, even.

His lips quirked into a smirk and one hand reached up to play with his hat restlessly; it was a beautiful hat as well; it was extremely large and the same muddy green colour as his coat, and various different pins and feathers stuck out from the brim—tucked into the pale pink satin sash, which circled the crown of the hat, was a white card.

"You can't have searched everywhere—you've simply searched anywhere except where Alice is," He narrowed his eyes, never blinking or looking away. "Try searching there."

The Gateway lowered her head, gazing at him from beneath her long lashes. "…We will, we will," she murmured softly. "Alice will not escape us for long."

His smirk widened and he chuckled softly, before twirling around and moving towards the exit—the Gateway watched him leave, wrapping her arms around her chest and letting out a soft sigh of relief—and then he paused in the doorway, completely still.

"…Is there anything else you wanted, Mad Hatter?"

She fidgeted nervously.

"Be quick—I'm getting tired of the Game."

She nodded slowly, "We will find Alice and then the Game can commence. You can be sure of that."

"Oh good," He murmured, before waving over his shoulder to the Gateway. "Then I shall be seeing you soon, I think." And, with that, he walked briskly out the door and down the corridor, away from the Gateway and back into Wonderland.

**.**

**.**

The Gateway rubbed the bridge of her nose thoughtfully, gazing down into the Real World—it was her job to find Alice—it was her job to point the White Rabbit in the right direction and to open the rabbit hole from Wonderland to the Real World. It was her job to make sure all of the players were ready for the Game. It was her job to pick the right people—it was her job to make sure they knew why they were picked, as well.

…She was lying—she did have help, after all. The Gateway wasn't just one person. It consisted of three people, who had been sent to Wonderland for a reason—and they knew their reasons, as the Gateway before them had made sure to tell them.

She had a Real Name, just like the other inhabitants of Wonderland—except, unlike the others, she was there all the time. Wonderland wasn't just a dream for her. It was her reality. In her opinion, the Real World should have been named Wonderland.

She wanted to go back their, if only just once.

But it was her duty to just sit and watch—to survey—lonely for all eternity, until the time came for the Gateway to choose other people to take over their duty. It was a sad, pitiful existence. It was lonesome. It was heart-breaking.

It was _boring._

And then the Gateway spotted her—she was crossing the street, somewhere down in the Real World, looking back worriedly over her shoulder as though she could sense she was being watched.

The Gateway smiled in triumph.

"…_Alice_…"

**.**

**.**

Down on the Real World, Haruno Sakura flicked through her AP Calculus homework, jotting down the answers as she went, sighing softly. She was older now, and wiser; she no longer craved adventure and recognition. She was happy just being herself, living her normal life, and doing normal things.

At least, that's what she told herself.

And, besides, she wasn't normal at all.

**.**

**.**

_The Gateway smiled, pointing one finger down at a figure in the Real World. "Oi, you two, come and look at this," He smiled, beckoning over the other two thirds of the Gateway. "I think I've found her."_

_The three of them peered into the Real World, before smiling._

"…_Alice…!"_

**.**

**.**

—Let the Game begin.

**.**

**.**

**M**

**A**

**S**

**Q**

**U**

**E**

**R**

**A**

**D**

**E**

**.**

**.  
**  
_because i'm holding myself together  
with sticky tape_

**.**

**.**

**Mother**

**.**

**.**

My mother was a good, kindly woman—she spoke highly of everyone she met and never failed to smile. Sometimes, when I look back, I believe I loved her smile more than I loved her; it was so bright and wide and filled with love and happiness.

She had a storyteller's voice.

When I was younger, she would sit beside me, as I lay tucked underneath my bedcovers, and would flash her beautiful smile at me and open a thick, black book—a book of fairytales. She would whisper them to me and I would trace the pictures with my fingers, and we would _bond_, I suppose.

I loved the fairytales more than I loved her.

**.**

**.**

When she read to me, I would listen. She could create entirely new worlds with her voice—she could paint pictures in my mind, so bright and beautiful that my world faded to black and white. Her voice was the most colourful thing—it was more wondrous than the rainbow—it was her voice that made my mother beautiful. And she became oh so much more elegant and wonderful when she spoke of those princes and princesses, of witches and curses, of adventure and tragedy, of romance, and of once upon a times and happily ever afters. She was most beautiful then.

It was the fairytales that made my mother beautiful.

**.**

**.**

In the end, it was the fairytales that killed my mother.

**.**

**.**

It had happened when I was only ten. At the time, in the news, there had been a serial killer in my city—he killed his victims creatively, I suppose, and beautifully—they died as princes and princesses.

They died like a fairytale.

Already, he had killed six others, but the police had sworn they were on his tail—according to the news that day, they already knew where he was based and who he was, and were simply waiting. I never knew what they were waiting for.

My mother was the last of the victims—she died more beautifully than she had lived. She had been found dressed in a light blue dress, complete with a white petticoat and a matching white pinafore and black and white striped stockings—a black Alice band, complete with an overly large bow, had been forced onto her neck. According to the police, she had been raped once with a croquet stick, before finally being choked to death with a strawberry tart.

It had been cruel, but beautiful—_picturesque._

At the time, I hadn't thought of it like that. At the time, I never really realised she wasn't going to come back—at the time, I waited and waited and waited for her.

At the time, I thought there would be a happily ever after.

**.**

**.**

It was raining when they buried my mother. I didn't really listen to anything the priest said—I didn't really hear anything _anyone _said. I stood beside the tombstone, with a white lily balled up in my fist, and stared at it.

That was when it dawned on me that she was never going to come back. That was when I first realised that no one was going to read to me anymore. That was when I realised I was going to be alone with my father, I was going to be alone. That was when I first realised that some people don't always get a happy ending.

They buried my mother in her fairytale costume. The police didn't need the dress for evidence—the criminal had already been caught—and, besides, my father _asked _them to.

"Remember, girl," He said, as he stood beside me, gazing at the tombstone. "This is what fairytales do to you. The world isn't as nice as the stories say." Then he turned and left, and I stood beside the grave on my own.

I looked up at the grey skies and my tears mingled with the rainwater. I don't know how long I stood there for—long enough for my clothes to get soaked through and my hair to stick to my forehead. I stood there long enough for the lily in my fist to become soggy. After a little while, I dropped the lily at my mother's grave and left.

I never visited her grave again.

**.**

**.**

**Father**

**.**

**.**

My father was rotten.

He was a pathetic little man—a disgusting slug—worthless and useless. I was afraid of him then, though; I was afraid of how he twisted the words of anyone he met—afraid of how he could turn anything black—afraid of how he made his heart rot. His words were poison to me. He was slime to me.

I loathed him with all my being.

But I was still scared of him. He could be commanding; he told me he loved me, but his love was twisted and rotten. He would whisper soothing words to me, as he smacked my face—he would smile and tell me over and over _"everything is going to be alright" _and that was when I realised he was lying.

I was afraid I would become like him.

**.**

**.**

The day mother died, he stopped speaking to me. I didn't understand, at first—one night I picked up my book of fairy stories and crept downstairs—he sat where he always sat, slouched in front of the TV, a bottle by his side.

"Read me a story," I asked him.

At first, he didn't respond; instead, he looked _through _me, clutching the bottle almost desperately. Then he reached out with his empty hand for the book and I handed it to him, settling in front of him by his feet, my arms wrapped around my knees.

He looked blankly at me, before slowly ripping the first page out. I think I just stared at him, obviously shocked. He continued through the book, ripping out page after page and letting them float to the floor in front of me.

I began to cry.

"You're too old for these, girl—it's time for you to grow up," He told me, tearing out the final page. He caught sight of the words happily ever after and screamed in rage; it was such an animalistic and inhumane sound, filled with bitterness and defeat—then he lurched out of his chair, staggering past me towards the table, and picked up his lighter.

"Daddy, _NO!"_

I shrieked.

The flame danced in front of my eyes, beneath my beloved book, taunting me—I looked into my father's eyes and he looked into mine.

We waited.

"…Nothing good comes of fairytales…"

The book went up in flames.

**.**

**.**

Later on that night, I crept downstairs and salvaged what was left of my book of fairytales. I took it upstairs and hid it in the drawer beneath my bed. I left it there, beneath a pile of panties and socks, and hoped my father had forgotten all about it.

**.**

**.**

After that day, everything went downhill. My father stopped going to work—he stopped answering calls on the phone and stopped watching TV. He stopped speaking to anyone—occasionally, my grandmother would stop by, worried sick, but he wouldn't say a word—he stopped speaking to me, but I wasn't sad; in fact, it was a relief. He stopped eating. He stopped washing. He stopped sleeping.

But he never stopped drinking.

The day my mother died, my father decided to give up.

He decided to drink himself to death. One day, at the age of thirteen, I came home from school to find him swinging from the ceiling, an empty bottle rolling beneath him. He'd hung himself with an old red tie, after drinking one final last drink; the TV was still blaring away in the background, and I switched it off before ringing the police.

His death didn't affect me like my mother's did.

I was _glad _he was dead.

**.**

**.**

I suppose, in the end it was the fairytales that killed my father as well.

**.**

**.**

I refused to go to my father's funeral. Instead, I sat at home, in his armchair, and nursed the scorched remains of my old book of fairytales. I tried to read it—I tried to picture my mother speaking the words I had once before memorized in my head—but I couldn't. For some reason, the stories seemed treacherous to me. They whispered lies to me—they teased me and taunted me with happy endings—they showed me a world that I could have had. I _could _have lived happily ever after. I _could _have had my dream ending. I _could _have found my prince charming. But reality had ripped it cruelly from me.

I wasn't living in a fairytale. I was living in Real Life.

**.**

**.**

After my parents died, I grew up. I got rid of my fairies and horses and jewellery—I got rid of my plastic beads and pink bracelets, and my summer dresses and dainty shoes. I ripped down my flower wallpaper and my poems and posters.

I burnt my fairytales.

I gave up on once upon a times and happily ever afters.

An old family friend, named Shizune, moved in to look after me, with her pet pig. I don't think she knew what to do with me. I rarely spoke to her, instead locking myself in my room; I scarcely spoke at school either, simply sitting at the back of the class and gazing out of the window. My teachers labeled me a 'problem child'—eventually, Shizune stopped coming up with excuses and simply let the teachers do whatever they wanted with me.

I became more and more focused in my studies. I became smarter and smarter, and I refused to listen to nonsense stories and fairytales. At the age of fourteen, I was reclusive and lonely. I had no friends. I had no time for friends.

**.**

**.**

—_someday you will be old enough to start reading fairytales again_

**.**

**.**

**5 years later.**

**.**

**.**

Sakura sighed, shutting her book on advanced placement calculus, and pushed her chair backwards, standing up and stretching. She'd been doing homework for a good half an hour now and she was beginning to get fed up of it—after all, there was only so much maths a person could take before they began to feel like their brain might explode.

She glanced across the room, meeting her reflection's eyes—she didn't think she was beautiful, not like how everyone had said her mother was—her mother had been tall and graceful; she'd been able to captivate an entire room with just her smile. Sakura was short and clumsy—after spending so much time on her own, without friends, she'd taken to wearing baggy grey jumpers even in the summer. Her cherry pink hair had been cut jaggedly short, and her forehead was mostly hidden by a fringe.

It was her eyes, though, which made people stop and stare.

They were so wide and huge that they seemed to take up the entirety of her face—they were a grassy green as well, so bright that they looked like marbles. They were flecked with darker shades of green and framed by impossibly long eyelashes.

They made her look like a doll.

She nibbled on her lip thoughtfully, before tidying her homework away and exiting her room; she walked slowly down the stairs, peeking into the living room. Shizune was sat there, curled up on the sofa and watching the TV.

"I'm going outside for a little while," Sakura murmured, as Shizune turned to face her expectantly—the other nodded, smiling enthusiastically—after all, it wasn't often that Sakura offered to willingly go outside. She supposed it was something to do with the traumatizing tragedy of having your mother killed and seeing your father's dead body, as he hung from the ceiling.

That's what all the top therapists said.

"Are you going to take a book with you? It's a nice day, but I don't think it's quite warm enough for you to go paddling in the river yet."

Sakura shook her head.

"I don't plan on being out there for long," She smiled sheepishly. "I've been stuck in my room doing homework all day—I guess I just need to clear my head."

Shizune paused, before nodding slowly. "Well, I suppose… Just make sure you're not outside for too long." She frowned, before adding, "And I would feel much better if you took something to eat and drink. I know you, Sakura-chan—you get lost in your own little world so easily…"

She shrugged.

"…Sometimes I worry about you."

Sakura gulped—she didn't really want Shizune to play the guilt trip, not right now, so she smiled sadly and said, "I'm sorry." She turned to leave and then added, "I'll take some strawberries with me, okay?"

She smiled.

Sakura barely caught the last words Shizune whispered, as she left the room.

"Good girl."

Sakura was not really one for sitting alone and feeling sorry for herself, so she did decide to take a book, to keep her mind off _(the past) _other things—she plucked the first one off the shelf, picked up a bowl full of strawberries, and then unlocked the backdoor and stepped outside.

It was a sunny day—it was a _nice _day—the kind of day where you really did want to take a book and a bowl of strawberries and sit alone on the riverbank. She smiled to herself, as she wandered slowly towards her favourite spot—it was underneath a tree, next to the riverbank; bushes surrounded her as well, so it would be difficult for Shizune to watch her from the house, if she decided to.

Sakura even whistled as she walked.

She settled herself down in the shade, flicking the book open to a random page and then discarding it—she popped a strawberry into her mouth and then simply watched the water flow down the river. When she was younger, she used to dip her feet in the water and paddle around, laughing and splashing _(with her mother)_. She smiled fondly.

Ah, memories.

She sat upon the bank, eating strawberries and reminiscing, until all the strawberries had disappeared—and she didn't realise she was drifting off until it was too late, and she was already fast asleep.

**.**

**.**

"_Now, idiot—stop messing around with your watch and get out of here—Alice is waiting!" The Gateway rolled her eyes, pushing the White Rabbit forwards. "She's asleep, so now is your best chance."_

"_I know, I know—jeez, I know this is my first time doing this, but I'm not going to screw up or anything—"_

—_WHACK!_

"_GET GOING, MORON!"_

_A childish pout._

"_I'm going, I'm going!"_

**.**

**.**

Sakura was woken up by a rustling in the bushes to her left—she mumbled something sleepily and rubbed her eyes, gazing blearily at where the noises were coming from. There was a snap of a twig and a loud curse, and suddenly Sakura was sat bolt upright, fully awake.

"…Hello?"

Someone stumbled.

Sakura tried again, this time standing up. "Hello?"

The person she'd heard so clearly before stayed silently, and she decided that now was the time to investigate. She stepped forwards, pushing through the bushes and staggering into the clearing on the other side. There was a movement to the left of her and she turned, following it.

And then suddenly she was chasing something she couldn't see through bushes after bushes—whatever the creature was, it definitely _wasn't _small, and it was most certainly human, since every time it tripped or stumbled, it cursed loudly.

Its voice was definitely male too.

So the question was, how did a man manage to get into her backyard? Sure, it was a big backyard, but she was certain she would have noticed if people had suddenly managed to break in.

"Ah, shit…"

The person she was following stopped.

"…I think I'm lost."

She took that as her opportunity to step forwards and introduce herself. "Ahem, excuse me…?"

The person whirled around—he was definitely a man and a good looking one to boot, not that she really had an opinion—he was tall and thin, dressed entirely in white, with messy blonde hair and wide blue eyes—he has a smile like my mothers, she realised; because it was true. When he grinned sheepishly at her, his smile seemed to light up everything, to the point where she was smiling back.

It was contagious.

And then her eyes widened—this man—this _thing—_had the longest, whitest, _bunny ears _you ever did see.

His sheepish grin grew larger, and he scratched the back of his neck nervously, and then asked, "You wouldn't happen to know where a large, seemingly bottomless rabbit hole is, would you?"

Sakura shook her head, speechless.

"Ah well," The Rabbit—Man said. "It was worth a try." He then fished inside his jacket pocket, pulling out a gold pocket watch—his eyes widened comically as he checked the time. "_…Shit! _I'm late!"

He span around on the spot and began running again—and this time, Sakura was simply curious. A bunny boy had just stepped out of no where and began running through her garden, searching for a large rabbit hole.

_You'd _be curious as well.

After around five more minutes of running, there was a shout of triumph from somewhere in front of her—_he's found his rabbit hole then, _she mused—and she slowed to a halt. Pushing away the final bushes, she was surprised to find him stood waiting for her, his arm outstretched, one hand reaching for hers.

The Rabbit—Man beamed at Sakura.

"Alice-chan—you're late, for a very important date."

**.**

**.**

—_just like a fairytale._

**.**

**.**

She blinked, raising an eyebrow. "I think you're mistaken. My name's not Alice—I'm Sakur—"

"_DON'T!" _

The man yelped, waving his hands frantically, his eyes wide again.

She frowned slightly, waiting for him to go on, and the blonde man leaned forwards, lowering his voice to a whisper. "The Rules have changed, Alice—they can get you _here_, as well. You're not safe anywhere. The Queen of Hearts—she's everywhere."

The Rabbit—Man paused, cocking his head.

"Or he. Gender doesn't really matter in Wonderland. It's a pretty fucked up place." He paused, before winking at Sakura.

"Meet you there."

And then he jumped into the rabbit hole.

"No, _wait_—!"

She was reaching out for him, as though she'd hoped to catch his arm—she blinked; this had to be a dream, albeit a very strange and realistic one—_since when did I dream about boys anyway?_—and she definitely wasn't waking up. She peered down into the rabbit hole. The man had been right.

It did seem bottomless.

She shrugged slightly—what did she have to lose, anyway?—and took a few steps back. Then, Sakura ran forwards and leapt straight into the rabbit hole.

Straight into Wonderland.

**.**

**.**

Elsewhere, the Queen of Hearts opened her eyes and smirked.

Alice was coming.

**.**

**.**

The Mad Hatter lifted his teacup to his lips and paused, quirking an eyebrow—a shiver ran through his body, as sharp and violent as an electric shock, and he smirked.

She was coming.

"Oh Alice, mon amour," he murmured softly to the wind, placing the teacup back onto the table and leaning forwards, tilting his head. "J'attends votre étreinte désireuse. Répondez-moi."

A smile played on his lips.

"Pourquoi vous ne parlez pas?"

His smile widened into a smirk and he lifted his teacup back up and downed it swiftly, although the contents inside was stone cold. He threw the empty cup casually over his shoulder, listening to it shatter, and then slumped into his chair.

The Game was on.

**.**

**.**

…_Oh Alice, mon amour…_

**.**

**.**

"…I'm ready for you, Alice."


	2. une: down the rabbit hole

**project: **masquerade  
**disclaimer: **i do not own naruto, or the characters in it, or wonderland.  
**summary: **she will follow the white rabbit. she will fall in love with the mad hatter. she will kill the queen of hearts. but fairytales don't always have a happily ever after and she doesn't believe in once upon a times.  
**pairings: **sasusaku  
**notes: **and finally she actually gets into wonderland. man, i wish i could go there, doesn't it sound like _fun_?  
**chapter: **une: down the rabbit hole

**

* * *

**

_How do you get to Wonderland?_

**.**

**.**

It is not often that someone of my intelligence cannot comprehend a situation—no matter how bizarre and perturbing that situation is. I am considered a genius. I am the kind of person who does not get bewildered easily. I am the kind of person who does not believe in the extraordinary. There is nothing magical about this world—this disgusting, cruel, _rotten _world—Wonderland. It disgusts me. It can never surprise me or excite me; I do not belong here, in this twisted Game. But nor do I belong out there, in the Real World, with its horrors and its cruel laughter. I do not belong anywhere. I am dead inside. I have nothing to live for. I have no one to die for.

I am the Queen of Hearts.

I will not die for this world.

**.**

**.**

_Oh, I beg your pardon—it seems I am quite late._

(for a very important date)

**.**

**.**

The rabbit hole was dark and deep.

The moment Sakura had chosen to jump, she had instantly regretted it—_but his smile and he invited me, it would be rude not to go—_and her mouth had stretched open in a wild scream. For a second, the noise hung in the air—high pitched and completely terrified—before the wind snatched it away and she could hear nothing. She fell downwards and panic bubbled up inside her; oh God, she was definitely going to die, and there was so much she wanted to do, oh God, oh no, die like her parents, dead and gone and oh God oh God oh—

She sucked in a deep breath, too quickly, and attempted to clear her thoughts; really, was there any need to be so negative? She was bound to be fine, otherwise Rabbit—Man wouldn't have jumped down, let alone asked her to follow him. She was slightly reassured.

"Well, first things first…" Sakura murmured, although she wasn't sure whether she'd spoken out loud or not. "I should find some way to stop myself, otherwise I'm going to break a leg, or something…"

She looked around and then rubbed her eyes in surprise. One moment, the rabbit hole had been so dark that she'd barely been able to see herself, as she tumbled and pin wheeled downwards, but now lights were springing up from the sides of the well. They were pale lilac and they glowed warmly, like they were better suited for a child's bedside table, and they didn't offer too much light on their own—together, though, Sakura could see the sides of the hole, as well as slightly below her and above her.

She blinked.

"I'm—I'm still dreaming. That's got to be it. I'm still dreaming—"

She smashed through a glass table. Instantly, her hands flew up to her face and she arched her back in pain—where had a table come from anyway and… and… if this was a dream, why did the pain feel so…

Real?

She winced, checking her body for any lasting damage. She gasped and her eyes widened.

_(this isn't possible, this can't be happening, this is a dream, why aren't i dead, oh this isn't possible, this isn't possible AT ALL)_

She was perfectly fine. It was as though she hadn't crashed through a table—it was like she'd imagined it all, but it had been so ridiculously real, how could she have imagined it? Slowly, she glanced upwards.

Above her, a glass table hung in the air, completely whole and not at all shattered.

"Okay…" Sakura sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, but panic was bubbling back up inside of her, dark and horrible. "So wherever I am, the rules don't apply—logic doesn't apply. And this hole doesn't plan on ending anytime soon so, until then, I'd better look around and calm myself down, because getting all worked up won't get me anywhere."

Maps were pinned to the walls around her—slightly below her hung a portrait of a queen; her skin was so pale and her hair was snow white, and her lips were blue—she was beautiful, like a fairytale character, and her gaze was as cold as her looks. Sakura shivered. Bookshelves and cupboards spiraled downwards—some of them flew past her and, every now and then, she was forced to wriggle in the air to avoid some of them. Knives and forks and various pieces of cooking equipment floated past—a toy rabbit, its fur as black as ink, dropped into her arms, and she turned it over, instinctively—pinned to the back was a note.

'Hold on tight.'

Sakura raised an eyebrow and let go of the rabbit, watching idly as it dropped down below her—and she noticed that she was slowing down, which was bizarre, until she hung completely still in the air.

She looked around.

"What…?"

An umbrella bumped into her side and she grabbed it, despite the fact that she wasn't sure why she'd grabbed it. It just felt like it was the right thing to do, that was all—and she opened it quickly and held it above her head, waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly, she was falling again—apart from, she wasn't really falling anymore, she was _plummeting_, and she could see the ground (checkered white and black tiles, like a kitchen floor) below her. She looked upwards. She could no longer see the opening of the rabbit hole—wherever she was, she couldn't turn back, not any more—so she held her umbrella tightly and closed her eyes.

**.**

**.**

(and something changed inside of her—like a light was suddenly switched on, but it shone much brighter than that, and it hurt her eyes and her head and her heart)

**.**

**.**

Her feet touched the floor, gently, and the fall was over. Sakura opened her eyes cautiously, wincing as she adjusted to the bright light, and she realized how ridiculous she had to look, stood perfectly still and clutching an umbrella over her head. She lowered the umbrella, slightly embarrassed, and then glanced around her.

She was in a corridor, it seemed—although, it was the strangest corridor she had ever seen. It was circular, with a high ceiling and checkered tiles; lined along the walls were doors, of various different shapes and sizes, and perched in the middle of the room was a glass table. She sighed, walking briskly over to a red door and tugging the handle. It was locked. Somehow, she'd expected as much.

Nothing was as it seemed in this ridiculous dream.

She suddenly felt weary and sick and tired and lonely; briefly, the Rabbit—Man's wide smile floated through her thoughts and his voice echoed in her mind.

"_It's a pretty fucked up place."_

Sakura scowled, trudging over to the table—why was she here, anyway? Who the hell was that Rabbit—Man? He'd suddenly started running through her garden and talking nonsense and whispering about rules and games and Wonderland. Was that where she was, then—in this Wonderland place?

She shrugged lazily, before gazing at the objects lying upon the table—there was a golden pistol, and she picked it up, despite the fact that she was sure any kind of gun was dangerous. It was just so pretty, she realised, the way it shone in the light and sparkled when she moved it from hand to hand. It wasn't too heavy and she held it snug in her hand, before spinning around and aiming it at one of the doors.

"Pow, right?" Sakura grinned, tilting her head slightly and peering down the barrel. The safety was bound to be on; and it probably wasn't loaded anyway; but even if it was, who left a loaded gun just lying around waiting for someone to pick it up?

Only an idiot would.

Even so, she placed the pistol back down on the table cautiously and picked up the second object. It was a small bottle, with a crystal clear liquid inside, and a green ribbon tied around the bottle—the words 'DRINK ME' were printed onto a paper label, which dangled from the side. She bit her lip, before figuring what the hell and picking the bottle up—she pressed it against her lips and smiled slightly.

Then she tipped back her head and took a small sip.

It tasted of strawberries, she thought, although that could have just been because of the strawberries she'd eaten earlier. After a few seconds of nothing, Sakura realised that she'd been being silly and placed the bottle back onto the table—what had she expected to happen, after all?

There was a sharp cracking noise and pain shot through her body—her eyes widened in alarm, as she gazed down at her left arm. It had suddenly snapped and was now sticking out at an awkward angle; there was another crack, and her other arm was doing exactly the same thing. And then the air was filled with cracking and snapping, and Sakura realised that all of the bones in her body were breaking.

Sakura would have screamed, but her ribs were currently crushing her lungs and she could barely think straight. She leaned on the table for support, panting wildly—sweat dribbled down her forehead and into her eyes; her spine snapped, and her entire body spasmed in pain. Her fingers gripped onto the table ledge, holding as tightly as she could; and then Sakura realised she was no longer holding onto the ledge for support, but instead clutching it to keep herself from dropping. Her legs barely touched the floor—she was having to tip toe to keep herself standing upright and, what with her bones all snapping and apparently _re-shaping, _she was finding it hard to do that at all.

Sakura was shrinking—and it didn't look like she was going to stop any time soon.

She swung her other arm upwards, holding onto the ledge tightly, and grimaced; her arms were still snapping and shrinking and, although none of the bones punctured the surface of her skin, she could see them moving beneath the surface—Jesus, she could _hear _them loudly enough. Her clothes slipped away, far too large for her now, and another thought struck her.

What if she shrunk down to nothing?

Was that even possible? She bit her lip and closed her eyes as a new bout of panic overcame her—so was she going to die, then? But the Rabbit—Man…

(he'd save her, right?)

'But the Rabbit—Man' _what_?

What could he do to help her? Why would he even want to help her? And, why did she even trust him? _He _was the one who had asked her to jump down the rabbit hole; "meet you there", he'd said; and now what? She was in pain and danger—the most pain and danger she'd ever been in—and where was he?

"WAH, _ALICE-CHAN!"_

Apparently, right behind her.

Sakura winced, turning as much as she could to see him, and his eyes were comically wide, once again—he has beautiful eyes, she thought, so bright and as blue as the sky—and he rushed towards her, his arms outstretched. He was huge and she was tiny, and he reached his hand out towards her.

Sakura took a deep breath and let go of the table, dropping the shortest distance before landing safely in his palm; instinctively, his fingers curled around her tiny body, cupping her close to his chest and peering down at her.

She blinked up at him.

"…What kind of person just drinks a bottle labeled 'DRINK ME', with no questions asked?" The Rabbit—Man said, finally, rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh of relief.

Sakura scowled. "What kind of person just asks someone to hop down a deep, dark rabbit hole and expects no questions to be asked, hm?"

He grinned sheepishly, fidgeting slightly from side to side and sending Sakura tumbling about the palm of his hand—okay, so she'd won that round—and then, in the midst of her triumph, she realised that she was completely naked; she squeaked, her arms flying to cover her body, blushing heavily. Oh God, and that asshole hadn't mentioned it at all (which was probably very polite of him, or he was just really dense).

Blue eyes met green.

Then the Rabbit—Man noticed as well; he let out a high pitched squeak, much like the one Sakura had made, and then reached into his pocket with his spare hand. "Oh God, _sorry_! I should have realised sooner—I mean, I came prepared, just in case, but I was so busy being worried that you might have slipped and let go and fallen to your imminent doom, that I didn't realise…" He rambled, as he tugged out a small dress. "I made loads of dresses—you should have seen my poor fingers—just in case you drank more or less and shrank more or less than you have now but… I'm sure you get the point."

He dropped the dress at her feet and she picked it up, flashing him a grateful smile. It was bright blue and probably clashed with her hair, but that wasn't something she was particularly worried about—she was more impressed at the craftsmanship to be fair, and wasn't really that bothered about the colour.

"I was going to get the Mad Hatter to make it," He admitted, after a few seconds, "Because he makes, uh, hats, obviously, so I figured he could probably make a dress as well…" The Rabbit—Man trailed off, sniffing slightly. "But he's a prick, so there's no way he'd do anything to help _me _out, even if it involves helping Alice as well."

"My name isn't Alice."

The Rabbit—Man blinked, obviously startled out of his thoughts, and gazed down at the miniature girl sat comfortably in his hand. "Ah, you said that before, right? Well, like I said, Wonderland is a weird place," He paused, before gesturing uncomfortably at his floppy ears. "I'm, uh, not actually a rabbit."

Sakura rolled her eyes. "So who are you then, Mr Rabbit—Man?"

He scratched his chin, thinking about something; and his bright eyes clouded over somberly as he thought. Finally, after a few more moments of seconds, he seemed to have come to a resolution. "I'm the White Rabbit."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at his white suit and equally white ears. "…I can see that," She murmured, before smiling. "I'm Sakura."

The White Rabbit froze, his mouth dropping open; he does look like a rabbit, she noticed, when he's startled; with his eyes wide and his mouth gaping and his ears drooping. Like a rabbit caught in headlights.

He recovered gradually, narrowing his eyes and hissing, "You're not supposed to tell me that, _Alice._ You're not supposed to tell _anyone _that—it's the big, golden rule. Never, _ever, _tell anyone any information that can be used against you!"

Sakura simply scowled in response. "My name isn't Alice. I don't care what this game is, and I don't care what the rules are, because I'm not playing any games. I'm just dreaming, that's all, and in a second I'll wake up and you'll have vanished. You're nothing but a dream rabbit… man… that I thought up—and when I wake up, you'll be gone and I'll forget all about you. So you can either tell me your _real _name now or you can put me down and put me back to my normal size."

The White Rabbit looked torn—he opened and closed his mouth over and over again, his eyes flicking from Sakura to a door just behind her and then back to Sakura—and then finally he let out a string of swear words, conceding defeat.

"Fine! You win!" He snapped, his scowl mirroring hers—and then his face softened into a reluctant grin. "I'm Uzumaki Naruto and I'm the current White Rabbit—I'm your guide to Wonderland and your soft and fluffy companion. I'm sure you've got lots of questions," He pulled out his pocket watch, glanced at it, and then grimaced apologetically. "But right now, we're really late. We need to get moving."

"Really late for what?" Sakura asked, turning around to peer over his fingers—she could only just see over them.

"Y'know those questions that we're too late to answer?" Naruto mumbled, playing with one of his ears idly. "Yeah, that's one of them. Sakura-chan, I'm not going to ask much of you—okay, so that's not particularly true, but whatever—but could you just do this one thing for me? Could you just sit there and not ask any questions?"

Sakura huffed noisily, but nodded anyway; technically, this guy _had_ saved her life and the least she could do was shut up for a few seconds, despite the fact that her head was brimming with unanswered questions. Naruto hurried past the table, span back around, and then scooped up the golden pistol as well as the bottle.

"Weapons."

"What do you need—?" She stopped herself just in time, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. "Oh right. Questions. Sorry. I guess I don't deserve to know anything, right? I'll just sit here and, uh… sit here. Don't worry about me."

Naruto sighed heavily, pocketing the two objects, and walked briskly past the table towards a small door, around half his height. It was bright red, with a swirly W painted on it in white; she leaned forwards, over his fingertips, curious.

"Is that the door to Wonderland?" She asked, before she could stop herself.

"Uh, technically, I guess. I mean, we're already _in _Wonderland—well, uh, I guess we're in the Gateway to Wonderland—a corridor, or something. I never really understood that part. You're not very good at this entire 'no questions please' thing, are you?"

"No."

The White Rabbit heaved yet another sigh, checked quickly that Alice was relatively comfortable and safe, and stooped over, reaching for the door handle. He tugged it once, muttered a quick curse, and then fished a dirty key out of his pocket. "We used to let Alice do this part, but you wouldn't believe how difficult they found it," Naruto muttered, slotting the key into the lock. "Open the door first and then shrink yourself to step inside—it's actually not that hard—but it stressed them out, and they cried and practically flooded half of Wonderland. Well, so I've heard anyway; I'm relatively new to this job. I have to rely on the Gateway to fill me in—and, to a lesser extent, that mad bastard."

"You're rambling."

"Sorry," And then he pushed open the door and stepped into Wonderland.

**.**

**.**

**wonderland.** n. **1. **_an imaginary land of marvels or wonders _**2. **an actual place of great or strange beauty

**.**

**.**

_Wonderland is beautiful._

That was the first thing Sakura thought as she gazed around her—and it was true; Wonderland _was _beautiful. It was picturesque, with its spiraling evergreens that climbed high into the pale blue sky—the sun shone warmly down upon their backs—ferns grew just next to the dirt path, reaching higher than Naruto himself. Flowers bloomed near and far, their petals curling upwards, leaves stretching out as far as she could see—and she recognized some of the flowers; roses and bluebells and lilies; but they were somehow more perfect and beautiful than she'd ever seen them before. Amongst the bright pink and blue and yellow and red flowers, were creatures—lizards and rabbits and frogs and bears and wild cats; every single creature Sakura could think of was either perched in a treetop or nestled in the undergrowth.

_Wonderland is strange._

Not every creature, however, was one Sakura had seen—a small person fluttered past her face, small and tiny, with dragon's wings; behind them, a man with antler's was stood munching on a leaf; a man with the hands, legs and face of a frog hopped past, bidding them a good afternoon and then continuing on his way. Now that she thought about it, Naruto himself was pretty strange, with his long, floppy, rabbit ears, but she'd barely questioned that. And as she looked closer at the flowers, she realised some were so strange and brilliant, it was as though a young child had imagined them, with their spotted petals and striped leaves. It was a strange and new land.

_Wonderland is perfect._

It was perfect. It was more picturesque than the world she had come from—in many ways, it was as though they had simply copied her world and filled it with these beautiful creatures. They'd perfected it.

_Wonderland is scary._

Like every world, she realised, Wonderland had its secrets—hidden in the shadows were beasts so deadly and dangerous and ugly and ferocious, that they could not bear to show themselves. Every now and then, she would catch a glimpse of sharp teeth or narrowed amber eyes; every now and then, the bird song would be disrupted by a savage roar. Although, the dangerous creatures of Wonderland did not keep to the shadows; in the pocket of the frogman, she caught sight of a sword, as he hurried past. And some of the plants had teeth. And the shadows had eyes. And the vines seemed to be alive.

And no questions could be asked.

"Wonderland is a pretty fucked up place," Naruto announced, again, before moving his arm in a wide, sweeping gesture. "But I'm guessing its okay—when you get past the fact that nothing is as it seems."

"…Where _is _Wonderland?" Sakura asked, finally, brushing her hair out of her face and twisting around to face Naruto. "Where did it come from?"

The White Rabbit paused, tilting his head and glancing jerkily around him. "…No one really knows where Wonderland is, other than the fact that it is the land of dreams. I'm asleep right now. You're asleep right now. _Everyone _in this entire world is asleep right now. Depending on who you are, and whether you're chosen to partake in the Game, you'll fall asleep and wake up in Wonderland; and you'll ask yourself over and over again where you are, but the only answer you'll ever get is 'in a dream'. You're trapped in Wonderland, until you're finally freed—doomed to spend every single night battling for your life like some crappy science fiction movie."

Sakura blinked.

"And as for _where _Wonderland came from, no one knows." Naruto finished, shrugging slightly. "Not even the Gateway knows. They spend all their time telling us what we're supposed to do and the Rules of the Game, and they don't even know _why _we're playing this stupid Game, or _who _created it."

Sakura opened her mouth to speak again, but Naruto shook his head slowly—"Seriously, Alice-chan—I mean, _Sakura—_I'm not the right guy to be telling you about all of this. All you really need to know right now is that we're at war, and _we're _the good guys. When the Mad Hatter tells you what he needs to tell you, you've got to remember that. We're the _good guys_, and you can always trust us, no matter what. In this world or the Real World—it's our job to look out for you."

She nodded hesitantly, raising an eyebrow questioningly, but deciding she'd stop with the questions for a while. After all, they were apparently late and Naruto probably didn't need the distractions—despite the fact that he looked like he wanted nothing more than to sit and talk to her.

_Wonderland is mysterious._

Sakura sighed, wrapping her arms around her knees and gazing forwards; her head was buzzing with questions that she longed to ask and desperately wanted Naruto to answer, but now wasn't the time. She'd have to wait; wait to meet this Mad Hatter guy; wait until it was the right time; wait until she woke up. When she woke up, she'd be able to make sense of all these puzzles and clues and, the next time she fell asleep, she'd do whatever they needed her to do and leave.

She'd wake up from this nightmare and continue with her life.

**.**

**.**

_The man pressed his gloved fingers against the ground, his face twisting into a scowl—he glanced upwards, his gaze deadly behind his glasses, and stared at the soldiers surrounding him. "We were too late."_

_One soldier scoffed, adjusting his sword lazily. "And whose fault would that be, hm?"_

_A second soldier turned on him, scowling and spitting and angrier than he'd ever been before. "What are you implying, yeah?"_

"_That you're fucking incompetent."_

_Before they could continue with their argument, the man who had spoken first raised one hand, effectively shutting them up. They scowled at him with defiant eyes, and he smirked, amused. "Is there really any need for this, gentlemen? Now, the Queen was expecting Alice so we are going to _find _Alice. Am I clear?"_

"_Yes…"_

"_Pardon?"_

_The two knights rolled their eyes._

"_Yes, Knave of Hearts."_

_He smiled, touching the tips of his gloved fingers together, satisfied. "That's much better. Now… it is time to find Alice."_

**.**

**.**

—Wonderland is the most beautiful nightmare you will ever have, Alice-chan.

**.**

**.**

**M**

**A**

**S**

**Q**

**U**

**E**

**R**

**A**

**D**

**E**

**.**

**.**

_spiraling, tumbling, soaring  
down, down, down we go_

**.**

**.**

The Mad Hatter flipped his hat off his head and then caught it with a practiced ease, barely breaking a sweat as he did so. He flipped it again, caught it, flipped it, caught it, flipped it—and a butter knife flew through the air and into the side of his hat. The hat slipped past his fingers and fluttered to the ground, where it lay, crumpled and dejected, as he turned to the owner of the knife.

"…That's my hat," He murmured, finally.

The March Hare said nothing; he simply gazed blankly at the Mad Hatter, his turquoise eyes flashing dangerously, stormily—then he turned back to the table and picked up a cup. "You were getting on my nerves," He drawled, tipping the tea cup towards his mouth.

A knife soared through the air and crashed into the side of the cup—the contents spilled across the table, instantly staining the white cloth. The March Hare paused, regarding the mess coolly, and then turned back to the Mad Hatter—the Hatter was perched on his chair in a crouch, with an arm outstretched; he was obviously the one who had thrown the knife. The March Hare picked a fork off the table, just as the Hatter reached for a sharper knife, and the two stared at each other testily, each challenging the other to make the first move.

The Dormouse coughed loudly. "…Jeez, don't you two ever quit it with this macho bullshit?" He yawned, stretching and standing up—he'd been enjoying his sleep, tucked inside the spout of a red teapot, and disliked being disturbed.

The March Hare tilted his head and shrugged a shoulder. "No."

"…How troublesome…"

Finally, the Mad Hatter replaced his knife, plucked his hat up off the floor, and then slouched back in his chair. "That idiot is late, of course."

"As expected," The March Hare murmured, flinging his fork down the table, where it smashed into a glass jar. "Why _he _was chosen to be the White Rabbit is beyond me. He can barely tell the time."

"Alice is safe with him," The Dormouse sighed, dropping down from the spout and landing neatly in a crouch beside a croissant. "And besides, it's not like Alice would dare follow either of you two—you've got to be the scariest people I've ever seen—" Whatever else he'd planned on saying was cut off, as the March Hare slammed a tea cup down on top of him, trapping him. "—plus, you're the biggest dickheads I've ever seen as well."

The March Hare chuckled, dragging the cup closer to him and then resting his elbow on it. "You amuse me, little mouse, with all your big talk."

The Dormouse simply heaved another sigh, before curling up (despite the cramped conditions), tucking his tail between his legs, and promptly falling asleep again. It was a skill of his, he guessed—he could fall asleep anywhere, in any situation—he'd wake up and get out from underneath this stupid cup, the moment Alice appeared. The March Hare appeared to be thinking much the same thing, as he reached for another cup and began to stack them together, obviously bored.

The Mad Hatter watched the two for a moment and then tipped his hat forwards, so that it rested over his eyes, and smirked to himself.

"She's coming."

**.**

**.**

"Are we almost there yet?" Sakura said, from her cross-legged position on Naruto's hand; she stretched lazily, soaking up the last of the sun's rays—the day was already turning to night, and she could see the first stars up in the sky.

Naruto bristled, rolling his eyes. "What are you, five? This isn't a day trip, y'know. You're in danger and stuff. Wonderland is pretty damn dangerous. But, in answer to your question, no, we're not there yet—I, uhm…"

He slowed to a halt, ears twitching; he span around in a slow circle, tilting his head and gazing warily into the dark jungle around them. Sakura blinked, staggering to her feet and leaning against his fingers—she glanced forwards once, before looking up at Naruto, opening her mouth to speak.

"What—?"

"The path stopped."

She raised an eyebrow, before leaning precariously over his fingers—it was true, as well; the dirt path they had been walking along had been completely cut off. "…What's so strange about that? Path's stop all the time, back at home."

"You said it yourself, right? 'Back at home.'" Naruto paused, swaying slightly as he thought. "Here in Wonderland, the path's never stop—sure, they're misleading and they don't always take you to where you want to go, but they never just _stop. _Every single place in Wonderland is attached by a path, that's why there are so many sign makers—because there are so many signs to make," He gestured back at the path before continuing, "We _passed _a sign, can't you remember? A sign that said 'March Hare', because that dickwad never actually stays in his own house like he's supposed to—that's where we're going and… and the path has just stopped."

"…So this is the way to where we want to go, right?" Sakura said finally, twisting to face Naruto, and raising an eyebrow incredulously.

He nodded.

"Then why don't you just go this way? You know how to get to the March Hare, right?" She beamed at him. "Step off the path and make your own way—it's not that hard."

For a second, the White Rabbit looked surprised—his blue eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed—and then he shook his head decisively. "It's way too dangerous. The Hatter wanted me to get you to him _alive, _preferably. We're not doing it. We'll just turn around and go back the way we came, until I find a different turning and—"

"—what are you afraid of?"

Naruto blinked.

"…What?"

"I said; _what are you afraid of?" _Sakura repeated, gazing out into the darkness—and she could see the flashing deadly eyes and the sharp teeth, but she just didn't care anymore; she was tired of this dream and she was homesick and she wanted to get it all over and done with.

"What scares me, huh?" Naruto scoffed, rolling his eyes and then brought Sakura closer to his face, so that he could look into her eyes. "I guess I should tell you, Alice-chan—I guess I should tell you, even though I'm not good with words and I didn't want to answer any questions; it's funny, because I was scared of _you, _atfirst. Everyone says Alice-chan is going to be the one to win us the war—she'll do what has to be done and she won't second doubt it—and that's how Wonderland has always thought… up until the Rules changed. And when the Rules changed, Alice couldn't change with them, and so she died, and we were stuck here for a year or so, until they found you—the newest Alice. Sakura-chan, _you're _the scariest person I know."

Sakura blinked, raising her eyebrow. "Why?"

"Why was I scared of you?"

She nodded.

"Because you hold my life in your hands—you hold my _freedom _in your hands!—and I don't even know who you are. I shouldn't trust you because, in Wonderland, you should never trust anybody; but, with you, I have no choice. You're _Alice. _Our _savior. _You fell down the rabbit hole right into a war and you're our key player. I can't let anything happen to you, because, if you die, Wonderland's hope dies with you. The Queen of Hearts will win and we will be enslaved here for another year and who knows? We could end up stuck here for longer than that."

Naruto stopped, suddenly, and then sighed. "I guess I ought to answer those questions, right? We're going to be late anyway," He murmured and then sat down heavily—Sakura blinked, bouncing slightly as he shifted himself into a comfortable position and then rested his hands on his knees.

He grinned sheepishly.

"Fire away."

Sakura smiled warmly. "Okay then, first question—what's this game you keep talking about?"

"You had to pick the hardest question first, didn't you?" Naruto grumbled, reaching up to tug idly on one of his ears. "I don't know how the Game came about and anyone who _does_ know won't be likely to tell you; the Game has a dark history filled with nothing but death and tragedy, and no one wants to stick around for long enough to find out about all the misery. What I do know, however, are the Rules of the Game and the basic idea of it."

"Which is?"

"Alice-chan has to kill the Queen of Hearts."

It was the way he said it which annoyed Sakura most—the way he smiled and announced it as though it were the most simplistic fact in the entire world. She opened her mouth to protest, but Naruto shook his head.

"Let me finish before you bite my head off, please."

She nodded reluctantly.

"Basically, the Queen of Hearts is selected and she, or he, runs over Wonderland; the Queen must gather an army and prepare herself for Alice's arrival—because Alice definitely _will _arrive, there's no doubt about that—and, in turn, those opposing the Queen must also prepare for Alice. In which case, that would be us," Naruto grinned, jabbing his thumb at his chest. "I'm your guide, like I said before—the Mad Hatter is pretty much always Alice's right hand man—but there are plenty of others who are on your side and will help you no matter what. Anyway, it's Alice's job to kill the Queen of Hearts; in doing so, she frees everyone in Wonderland."

"…How…?"

"I told you before, didn't I? We're _trapped_ here—every single living inhabitant of Wonderland is a prisoner here—imprisoned by some kind of ancient enchantment, I don't know; freaky voodoo or something." He grinned, waggling his fingers and chuckling slightly. "And when Alice kills the Queen of Hearts, we're granted our freedom. We no longer have to take part in the Game and neither does Alice; and you forget all about the Game as well. It's like it was all a bad dream that you can't quite recall—a hazy memory stuck in the back of your mind—and you'll _never_ remember."

Sakura stood and stretched, her mind racing; _she _was supposed to be Wonderland's savior? _She _was going to be the one to free all of them—to free Naruto? How could she do something as impossible as that? Even with help, she doubted she'd have it in her to kill someone.

"What if I can't do it?"

Naruto frowned. "That won't happen. By then, you'll have seen enough of Wonderland to realise the truth—that it isn't such a nice and happy and sweet as cherry pie place—and you'll do it because it's the right thing to do."

Somehow, she wasn't reassured. The idea of taking someone's life… Ripping it away from them, just as her mother's life had been ripped so cruelly away. She didn't think she could do it. All the loneliness she'd felt… Death didn't end with the person it had taken. It chipped and bit and pulled away at everyone who was left behind—until it becomes so unbearable, that

(you do what dad did, don't you, you act just like my precious darling father and you drink yourself to DEATH until you're just as DEAD as she is and as he is dead dead DEAD)

you feel like you can't go on anymore, just like she had. No one—_no one_—deserved that kind of pain and misery.

"It'll be hard, Sakura-chan, but when the time comes, I know you'll do the right thing," Naruto flashed a cheery grin and then scooped her gently up—he dropped her onto his head, where she sat between his ears, warm and comfortable. "I'm going to need both of my hands free if we're straying off the path, so you're going to have to hold on tight."

Sakura laughed, attempting to sit more comfortably on his messy hair. "You're a good guy, Naruto."

The White Rabbit smiled.

"You're not so bad yourself, Alice-chan."

**.**

**.**

The Cheshire Cat is a trickster by nature. He is smarter than the greatest scientists, sharper than the deadliest of knives and quicker than a bullet. He is strong and dangerous—and he can be twisted and cruel—but, deep down, he _is _a cat, after all; his can be as cuddly as a kitten. He is manipulative and sly and cunning; and his grin is deceptive; and he is the possibly one of the most terrifying characters in all of Wonderland. From the day he was born, until the day he dies—the only side he is on is his own. And he will remain that way, forever more.

And his grin is oh so lonely.

**.**

**.**

"…_Of course they would be heading towards the Mad Hatter, and his insane comrades," the Knave of Hearts murmured, crouching down next to the edge of the path—it cut off, oddly enough, and he'd have to make sure to ask the Queen about that; it was necessary that he knew everything that happened in Wonderland. "How extraordinary, though… I doubt anyone has ever strayed off the path this openly."_

_The first soldier shrugged. "Is it such a big deal? They're going to end up dead either way, on the path or off the fucking path."_

_The second soldier rolled his eyes. "Oh, trust you to be so stupid. If the White Rabbit is willing to stray off the path, with Alice, despite the danger he's undoubtedly in, he obviously thinks Alice is very strong."_

"_Alice is always weak."_

_The two knights turned to the Knave of Hearts, who was busy cleaning his glasses. "Alice is always weak," The Knave of Hearts repeated. "She does not understand Wonderland or its Rules. She'll think she does, just as the Alice before her did, and the one before that—but she will never truly comprehend. Only the Gateway knows—only the Gateway understands."_

"_The Gateway can't take part in the Games, though…" The second soldier said hesitantly, uncertain of where the conversation was heading. "It's their job to search for Alice and the other participants. They have to find replacements for those who die, once the Game has ended."_

_The Knave of Hearts ignored him._

"_We are fools. We rely on Alice, but it is the Gateway…" He trailed off, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in irritation, as though he was trying to recall something he just couldn't quite remember—something which hovered at the back of his mind, dark and deadly. "Oh well; it is our job to find Alice, but we're not going in there."_

"_Hey, why not, seriously?" _

"_You wouldn't last a night in there, yeah."_

"_Oh yeah? Try me, then, fucker."_

_The Knave of Hearts tutted irritably, drawing his sword—in one swift, glittering arch, he swung it through the air and sliced clean through the first soldier's neck. Blood sprayed out from the wound, splattering the second knight's face—he staggered backwards, eyes wide, watching in disbelief as his comrade's decapitated head moaned blearily, blood dribbling down his lip._

"…_the fuck was that for?"_

"_Shut up." The Knave of Hearts snapped, wiping his sword upon the still-upright body with enough force to knock it over. "You," He continued, pointing his blade at the second soldier. "Gather your friend together. It's your job to carry him. And, both of you, shut _up_."_

_They complied._

_He smiled pleasantly._

"_That's better."_

**.**

**.**

"Where are you heading, little rabbit, this far in the deep dark woods?"

Naruto jerked around, immediately tensing—and Sakura promptly hid underneath one of his floppy ears, peering out from underneath it at the newcomer. He was a man, who appeared to be around the same age as Naruto—he was taller though, swinging his long legs as he sat perched on a branch, in the treetop. He wore entirely black, which contrasted with his pale skin—he was as pale as parchment

_(snow white)_

and his skin was smooth and perfect. He had dark hair and it hung over his face—two large, violet ears stuck out of his head. Cat's ears, she realised, and they twitched this way and that, listening for even the slightest sound—and she found herself holding her breath as well. His tail twitched in time with his ears, curling and flicking and swinging from side to side. He was one of those brilliant and strange creatures, she thought, what with his fingernails as sharp as needles.

His face was twisted. His eyes were crinkled into a smile—his mouth stretched wider than she thought it could, smiling at her, and the tips of pointed fangs pressed against his bottom lip. He tilted his head, never opening his eyes; in fact, if it weren't for the fact that he'd spoken, she would have assumed he was sleeping.

"The path is that way," He continued, pointing a sharp finger in the opposite direction. "Are you lost, you silly rabbit?"

"The path stopped," Naruto snapped briskly.

The man's smile widened. "I know," He said, reaching into the branches above him—when he pulled his hand away, he was clutching a small bird. He stared at it critically for a few moments, before pressing his fangs against the soft of its neck. "I know everything, little rabbit."

Then he bit down, gradually, and blood welled up around his fangs. He drew back, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips, and then held the bird above his head—the blood dribbled downwards, slowly, and he craned his neck eagerly. Then, unable to wait any longer, he placed the whole of the bird inside his mouth and crunched down. Sakura recognized the sound of snapping bones and shuddered, paling slightly—this boy was a monster, which was for sure, and definitely not a friend.

"Ugh, that's gross, Cheshire Cat," Naruto snapped. "Do you have to eat in front of—"

"—a lady?" The Cheshire Cat finished, blood running down the corner of his mouth; he smeared it with his thumb and then completely ignored it.

Naruto peered at him, obviously waiting for something—probably for the Cheshire Cat to make his next move—to announce grandly which side he was on.

"Alice is an awful lot of responsibility for such a little rabbit," The Cheshire Cat purred finally, his smile widening. "Are you sure you're going to be okay in this big ol' forest? You wouldn't want to get lost or be _late, _would you now?"

The White Rabbit clapped his hand against his mouth. "Oh God, we are so _late—_the Mad Hatter is going to _castrate _me!" He waved one hand in goodbye, turning away from the Cheshire Cat and hurrying in the opposite direction. Sakura span around, so that she could watch the man until they left—there was something she just didn't trust about him.

The Cheshire Cat watched them for a moment, his feet kicking and swinging—and then they began to fade away, slowly, and Sakura found herself rubbing her eyes. Suddenly his legs were fading away and his arms and his entire body—gradually, he was vanishing. Finally, his head was the only thing left—grinning and smiling and just creeping Sakura out.

Then his eyes flickered open.

They were beautiful—one as black as the midnight sky, the other a bright and vibrant purple—and then they two vanished, and the only thing that was left was his smile, hanging in the air, and it whispered one word—one word which chilled her to the bone.

It was her name.

"Sakura."

**.**

**.**

The Mad Hatter pulled a pocket watch out of his coat and sighed, watching the second hand tick forwards and backwards and then finally judder to a halt. He tapped the glass once, willing it to begin moving again, but nothing happened.

The March Hare regarded him coolly. "What are you doing?"

"Killing time."

Underneath the tea cup, the Dormouse rolled his eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position. "You're insane."

The Mad Hatter tilted his head, smirking slightly, and then tossed the pocket watch to the March Hare, who caught it easily. The March Hare peered at it for a few seconds, ran his fingers through his red hair, and then flung it across the table, where it landed in a coffee mug. He allowed himself a small smirk of triumph. The Mad Hatter leaned back in his chair, moved his hat over his forehead, and then closed his eyes, even though he didn't plan on sleeping.

"Hurry up now, Alice."

The Dormouse yawned lazily.

"What a drag…"

**.**

**.**

"We're almost there, Sakura-chan!" Naruto announced, tugging a vine out of the way and treading on a fern in his eagerness. Sakura blinked blearily in response, tired from her exciting day in Wonderland, and Naruto's eyes widened as he noticed this.

"No, no, _no—_please, Sakura-chan, don't wake up just yet!" He begged, moving faster now. "I mean, we've come all this way—you have to meet the Mad Hatter; he needs to tell you the Rules, because I'm not too good at explaining those. Aw, c'mon, don't wake up on me yet!"

"Wake up, Naruto?" She mumbled questioningly, rubbing her eyes. "But I'm so tired."

"Naw, you're just tired in Wonderland—in the Real World, you're almost ready to wake up; c'mon, please don't close your eyes, because then there'll have been no point in me coming to get you and this entire journey will have been for nothing. Just hang on for another hour, Alice—I mean, Sakura-chan! For me?"

"…Fine."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you—!"

"—idiot. You're _late."_

Sakura blinked, standing up on Naruto's head so that she could see slightly better—in front of her was a long, thin table, set up in the most bizarre tea party she'd ever seen. There were plates and pots and pans and bowls placed haphazardly up and down the table—some were stacked upon each other—and there were tea cups and mugs and beakers, and knives and forks and spoons, and spatulas and whisks and even a toaster. There were various pots of butter, most of them upturned, and a couple of cubes of sugar misplaced.

Sat closest to her, was a man shorter than Naruto—he had the most wonderful hair she had ever seen in her entire life. It was fiery red—the exact colour of a candle flame and it was so vibrant and soft—it hung messily about his head, finishing at the nape of his neck. He had long ears which pointed high into the sky, only a few shades darker than his hair. He wore a maroon shirt, with a black battered waistcoat, complete with various knives tucked into the pocket. He had beautiful eyes, as well—turquoise, the exact same colour as the sea—but they seemed dead to her. Cold and dead.

She assumed he was the March Hare.

A cup overturned suddenly, and Sakura found herself peering down at a man around the same height as she was now—he had dark oaky hair, tugged back into a ponytail, and tired eyes; there were the biggest darkest bags beneath his eyes and, even as he scanned her, he ended up yawning and rubbing them blearily. He had a mouse's tail, which he dragged along behind him—it was as lazy as he was, she assumed.

She figured he was the Dormouse.

And there, sat at the end of the table, was a young man only just older than her. He was beautiful, she decided, like a prince out of a fairytale; with his pale skin and dark hair—it stuck up at the back, but the rest framed his face messily. In his hands, he clutched the largest hat she had ever seen—he placed it on his head and stood up slowly, stretching his hand out towards her. He was tall and lean, his murky green tailcoat flapping behind him. Numerous trinkets glittered in the light, but she found herself unable to look at them for too long.

Her gaze immediately flicked back to his eyes. They were perfection, she decided. No artist could ever capture what she saw in those eyes—and words did not describe them, either. They were wise and knowing and understanding and cold and welcoming and dangerous and passionate and oh so lonely. They were black—as black as ink—and she found herself drowning in them…

He was the Mad Hatter.

"Welcome, Alice."

The White Rabbit reached for her and she hopped into his hands, letting him lower her onto the table—she staggered for a second, so used to not using her legs, and then walked steadily down the table.

The Mad Hatter's mouth quirked into a smirk as he watched her and then he turned to the White Rabbit, "You took your time—and, apparently, you shrunk her."

Naruto looked outraged. "Wha—?" He spluttered, pointing at himself indignantly. "_I _shrunk her? I did not! That was all _her _fault—I mean, what kind of person just drinks from a bottle labeled 'DRINK ME', with no questions asked?"

The Dormouse rolled his eyes, completely ignoring the argument going on above him, and strode over to Alice. He was slightly taller than her, he noticed, with some triumph—but then again, she had been shrunk and when the Hatter gave her the cake, she'd simply grow back to her usual size. He sighed wearily, before extending his hand in welcome.

"I'm the Dormouse."

She shook his hand, grinning. "Oh really? I'm Sakura."

He froze, momentarily confused—Sakura? This girl was Alice, not Sakura—and then he realized. "You use your normal name?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and shoving his hands in his pockets. "You do realize how dangerous that is, don't you?"

"Naruto has said. Over and over again."

The Dormouse simply gaped, his eyes widening slightly. "…Since when did _he _use his actual name, as well?"

"Since I became fed up with calling him 'Rabbit—Man'," Sakura replied testily, before placing her hands on her hips and taking that bossy stance that the Dormouse swore every woman had perfected. "So are you going to tell me your name, or what? I'm guessing that you three are people I can trust."

"Of course, Sakura-chan!" Naruto grinned. "We're the good guys!"

The March Hare lobbed a glass bottle at him, which he managed to duck, shrieking as he did so.

The Dormouse frowned, dropping into a crouch as he pondered his situation—he could tell this girl, who obviously disliked the use of the codenames or aliases or whatever they were—or he could refuse, and risk jeopardizing their relationship before he'd even asked Alice to fight with him (to fight _for _him). He sighed, straightened, and shrugged slightly. "I guess there's no other way…" He eyed Sakura wearily. "Troublesome woman… I'm Shikamaru."

Sakura clapped her hands together once, grinning. "See? It's not that hard, Shikamaru," She murmured, before turning and continuing down the table—despite acting differently, she could feel herself getting more and more tired, and she desperately needed to find out what the Rules of this stupid Game were first. She stopped beside the March Hare. "And you are…?"

"Gaara."

She nodded slowly, twisting away and practically breaking into a run—why did this table have to be so damn long anyway?—until she skidded to a halt in front of the Mad Hatter. She opened her mouth to ask his name, but he shook his head.

"Priorities, Alice," He murmured, leaning forwards so that he could peer into her eyes. "First, you need to grow up."

She scowled—this man was so rude already—and then blinked, startled, as he handed her a crumb of what looked like a vanilla sponge cake. His smirk widened, obviously amused at her confusion, and he nodded slightly. "Go on, eat it—it's not poisonous," He said and shrugged off his tailcoat, which confused her even more.

Still, she ate the crumb.

She was growing again—she could tell—she could hear the familiar snapping of her bones and feel the sharp pain; except it was dulling quickly, because she was getting used to it. Her arms began to stretch and her legs got longer and she became taller, and suddenly she was her normal size again. Instinctively, she covered her body up with her arms, bewildered as the Mad Hatter thrust his coat out to her.

"Put it on for now—you haven't got long left."

She complied quickly, shrugging the coat on and holding it tight around her body, before waiting for the Mad Hatter to continue. He said nothing for a while, content with playing with the sleeves of his shirt, which dangled down past his hands—then his eyes flickered up to meet hers and he tilted his head.

"Sakura, when you return to the Real World, look out for us."

Those words chilled her blood and her eyes widened—she could tell she was paling rapidly, unable to hide her (fear) confusion. "What—what do you mean?"

"The Game doesn't just stop in Wonderland, Sakura—it's much nastier than that. It seeps into the Real World, through our dreams, through our memories; everything that happens here, we remember and we store and we use. We'll be looking out for you, Sakura, but so will they…" He trailed off, flashing a dark look at Naruto. "It's a shame. I wanted more time; I had much more to tell you. But you were _late._"

She was fading—her eyelids were drooping and she was finding it harder and harder to focus. She turned around, slowly, and found that the Dormouse—Shikamaru—was nowhere to be seen. He'd vanished, much like the Cheshire Cat; and, even as she watched, she could see Naruto yawning and fading slowly.

She was waking up.

They were _all _waking up.

She span back around to the Mad Hatter, who showed no signs of fading—instead, he was leaning back in his chair, watching with a superior smirk. Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she jerked around.

The March Hare was stood behind her, holding out the golden pistol and the glass bottle, and a small package wrapped in brown paper. "You need to keep these—they belong to Alice," He murmured softly, pressing the objects into her hands and then turning away—and as he walked to his place, he too began to fade.

Sakura could no longer see her lower body—she clutched the objects to her chest and stared at the Mad Hatter.

"Look out for the Queen of Hearts and her merry men," The Hatter drawled, picking a tea cup up from where her leg used to be. "And never, under any circumstances, trust the Cheshire Cat." He lifted the cup up, suddenly smiling.

"I'll be seeing you soon, Sakura."

**.**

**.**

She jerked upright, gasping for breath and feeling completely bewildered—she gazed around her, drinking in her familiar surroundings; it was dark and there was her house, just up ahead, and there were the bowl of strawberries resting by her side—and there was her book, lying discarded just a few feet away from her.

And there was the golden pistol and the 'DRINK ME' bottle and the brown package, clutched tightly to her chest.

Sakura's heart stopped. She placed the objects on the ground warily, pushing them as far away from her as possible, and looked at them. They meant that it hadn't been a dream—Wonderland hadn't been something impossible her mind had imagined. The Game was real and she was a part of it.

She had met the White Rabbit, and the March Hare, and the Cheshire Cat, and the Dormouse. She had met the Mad Hatter. She had been to Wonderland and now…

Wonderland was coming to her.

**.**

**.**

"_I'll be seeing you soon, Sakura—we'll _all_ be seeing you soon."_


	3. deux: scream, if you want to go faster

******project: **masquerade**  
****disclaimer: **i do not own naruto, or the characters in it, or wonderland.**  
****summary: **she will follow the white rabbit. she will fall in love with the mad hatter. she will kill the queen of hearts. but fairytales don't always have a happily ever after and she doesn't believe in once upon a times.**  
****pairings: **sasusaku  
**notes: **ooh, _ffffuuu_—this chapter just kept getting longer and longer, the beast. but fuck, i love kiba. and i killed off cannon fodder, because action needed to happen sometime soon.  
**chapter: **deux: scream, if you want to go faster

**

* * *

**

_Wonderland is a recurring nightmare, which most will never escape from. Even when it is all over—even when the Queen of Hearts has finally been defeated—there is still the distant memory. It is faded and it haunts them. They can never quite remember but, inside, they always _know. _They can never remember, but they _believe.

_Wonderland haunts them._

**.**

**.**

**wonderland will come to her**

08:37:49

Uzumaki Naruto stood outside the battered apartment, studying the rusted lock on the door quietly. Then, without a second thought, he swung his leg up and kicked as hard as he could, eyes narrowed with concentration.

The door held firm.

A curse of disbelief, followed by a second kick. And then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth—

The door seemed to wheeze, bending inwards and, after a final kick, it gave up entirely. It swung open, the rusted old lock clattering to the floor at his feet, and Naruto gave an obnoxiously loud shout of triumph.

Within seconds, he was laying on the floor, winded, arms wrapped around his stomach. He glanced up, scowling, ready to give that bastard a piece of his mind.

Red eyes swirled back into black. An uneasy hand ran through messy, bedraggled hair.

"Idiot. I thought you were… one of them."

Naruto was outraged, "Hey, how could _I _ever be one of _them? _What made you think something as stupid as that?"

The other man picked up his broken lock pointedly.

Naruto grinned sheepishly.

"I can fix that."

"Sure," the Mad Hatter rolled his eyes, pocketing the lock and inspecting his door. He pushed it once, twice, and went as though to close the door on the other.

The White Rabbit grinned.

"What'd you think you're doing? You've got _school, _remember?"

**.**

**.**

08:45:52

Sakura was tired. She moved slowly through the throng of teenagers in uniform, pushing lazily through the crowd and yawning blearily; she shifted her schoolbag so that it hung more comfortably on her shoulder, making her way towards her locker. That Sunday night, she had stayed awake until past midnight, unable to sleep—as interesting as it had been, she did not want to see a beautiful blonde boy, as white as snow, beckoning to her and telling her that she was late—part of her had missed the dream; it _had _been particularly detailed, as well; that was the childish, romantic part of her. That was her heart whispering to her.

Her mind, however, had kept her awake all night. Do not sleep, it had murmured, because who knows what could happen if you do? That dream… it could not be real. There was no way. Sakura refused to believe it; and, still, she had stayed awake all night, eyes wide, refusing to sleep, because she knew that _that place_ was dangerous. It was nothing but a dream—a nightmare—but it was a deadly, terrifying nightmare, which she might never wake up from.

She sidestepped around a freckled, spotty adolescent, skidded past a tall, blonde cheerleader—who sniffed at her, peering down her nose and rolling her eyes. "Pink hair? _So _tacky. Baggy jumpers? _Puh—_lease."—and slowed to a halt outside her locker. The one with the K & S written on it, in thick black marker pen. The same K & S that she had spent a week trying to scrub off, after K vanished from the formula.

She traced the K with her index finger, feeling the cool metal underneath her skin, and then sighed slightly, shaking her head. Highschool crushes weren't for her. They were for cheerleaders and pretty girls—not for freaks, with huge foreheads and ugly pink hair and glass eyes. She tugged open her locker, sorting through the junk inside for her textbooks—AP Calculus and Literature, first up.

Lucky her.

She sighed, almost wistfully. Then again, if that place had been real—and, no, she could not bring herself to say its name, because that would be _accepting_—there would be much more excitement in her life.

(too much excitement)

She shoved her books into her bag, turned around, and then walked straight into K.

Her eyes widened.

"Kiba…"

Warm, dark eyes peered down at her, through a shaggy mess of hair. Her fingers reached up, absently, touching the scars on his tanned cheeks—the scars he had tattooed over, to hide forever—the scars only she knew were there. His lips curled into a smug smirk, the tips of his canines poking over his bottom lip.

_(behind him, she saw a boy, a boy with a hat, the hat so huge and so magnificent, it reminded her of HIM, but then Kiba spoke and the hat disappeared, the boy vanishing with it)_

"Yo! You didn't think I was just going to let you forget about me, did you?"

Just like that, the trance was broken. She jerked her hand back, as though she'd been burnt, and turned away; she felt her cheeks flush pink. She busied her hands with her bag strap, adjusting, readjusting, and readjusting again, unable to quite look at him. She was all too aware of his eyes scanning her body, watching her, reading her, drinking her up—she'd always hated it when he did that; it made her spin tingle and the hairs on her arms stand on end.

She was curious, she had to admit—she needed to know why he'd come back, why he'd left, why he hadn't told her—but, after taking one look at his cocky, arrogant little grin, she whirled on the balls of her feet and took flight, her bag keeping rhythm with her quick footsteps.

"Hey—no, Sakura—wait_ up!"_

He was following her. She rolled her eyes; of course he'd follow her, had she really expected any less from him? He would follow her, he would grasp her wrist and spin her around, and then work his magical web of lies, explaining why he'd disappeared for the first, second, third, _fourth, FIFTH _time, without a single word. And she didn't want to hear it. She didn't like big, cliché break-ups, but this time, she just didn't want to hear it.

His fingers curled around her wrist. She spun around to face him. Her chest heaved, up and down, and her eyes narrowed. For a second, they simply stared at each other; then Sakura folded her arms and Kiba shoved his hands in his pockets, and they both looked away.

"…I thought you'd miss me," he said, finally, watching a kid two years younger than him shuffle past, kicking a paper ball along the ground as he walked by. He glanced at her quickly, but saw nothing; her expression was carefully blank, as she gazed in the opposite direction.

"I did miss you."

"We were going to go to Neverland together, remember?" He said hesitantly, smiling his lopsided smile. "We were going to fly with the fairies and swim with the mermaids. We were going to be Lost Boys, right? You and me, forever young."

"I was five, Kiba."

He winced. Her voice was so cold—had it always been that cold? After everything; after all his laughter and his smiles and the memories he'd given her, had her voice stayed so cool and detached? Had it always made the hair on the back of his neck stand up—bring goosebumps up all along his arms?

"People grow up."

Sakura studied him as she spoke, satisfied as her words pierced him like bullets—good, she thought, good, because he deserves every single bit of it; every single bit of hurt he put me through, he deserves thrown back at him, twice as hard, twice as much, twice as bad—he flinched, before looking straight at her.

His eyes were hurt. "You don't _mean _that."

Her features softened—inside, she melted. "I'm… I'm sorry, Kiba. It's just, you left, _again, _and it hurts so badly when you do. No word—no goodbye. Just no welcome in the mornings and no umbrella to shield me from the rain—my best friend vanishes, just like that, like a real, proper Lost Boy; like Peter Pan has just stolen you away and left me all behind. It _hurts."_

As she spoke, she found herself moving closer towards him; suddenly, his arms were wrapped around her thin body, holding her as close to him as he can. They must have looked so odd, she thought to herself—the frumpy, pink-haired freak and the hottest boy in school, hugging like old friends. They must have looked so funny—the tear tracks running down her cheeks, his eyes glistening. They must have looked like a dream come true—like a fairytale ending—that Cinderella with her Prince Charming. She sobbed suddenly, despite herself, the noise a hoarse, bewildered croak.

He hushed her. "I know, Sakura, I know; but I can't tell you, because that bastard… that bastard _knows _you. And if you don't know where I am, then he can't ask you, and he can't find me and mum and Hana…" He trailed off lamely. "If I just vanish, we're safe."

Sakura knew it pained Kiba to talk about it—to talk about _him—_and so, she dropped the subject; she stepped backwards and stared at him. "I'm glad you're back, anyway," she flashed him a grin. "When you're around, I feel like I'll never grow up."

_(An image flickers in his head:_

_Rough, calloused fingers. _

_Touching, grabbing, pulling._

_Moaning._

_The creaking of a bed._

"_Don't you ever grow up, Kiba."_

_The steady pounding._

_The constant, rhythmic pain._

_In—_

"Don't

_Out—_

you

_In—_

ever

_Out—_

grow

_In—_

up

_Out—_

Kiba.

_IN—_

NOT

_OUT—_

EVER."

_A staggering climax._

_Teeth bite his neck, sharp and strong._

_They scream together, pain and pleasure interwoven._

_He pulls away, curls up into a ball, wants to die die DIE._

_His father smokes beside him._

_The next day, at school, he wears a scarf, despite the sunny weather. His parents exchange worried glances. PROBLEM CHILD, he can see the words flashing in their mind. He shifts the scarf so that it sits more comfortably around his neck, hiding the bite marks—hiding the evidence—hiding the night before._

_He can't wait to grow up.)_

Kiba grinned back at her, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Don't worry, Sakura—I won't ever grow up."

Sakura smiled, reaching out and gingerly linking her hand through his; he blinked, startled, peering down at the pink hair and the green eyes like marbles. She looked back up at him warmly, lovingly, and said, "That's just what I want to hear, Kiba. We're going to stay young forever and ever."

He nodded in return and they walked together, heading slowly towards Sakura's calculus room, despite the fact that Kiba's biology lessons were in the opposite direction; every now and then, they would sneak a peek at the other person, tenderly, taking in every little change. His scars had healed now. Hers still hadn't. His hair was longer. So was hers. His smile was fake, bright, but fake. Hers was faker.

Just two little PROBLEM CHILDREN

Walking together as PROBLEM FRIENDS.

They approach Sakura's classroom slowly, unsure of whom should say goodbye first, and then Kiba swept open the door, holding it for. She stepped inside and immediately bowed her head respectfully, apologising quickly for being late; she was surprised to feel a rush of wind, as he bowed next to her; she was surprised to hear his voice join hers, low and familiar. The professor flapped a hand at them in dismissal—Kiba led her to the back row, and flung himself down next to the window almost immediately. She wondered if he couldn't help it—if he _had _to be on lookout—but she didn't ask. She didn't want.

She sat down neatly next to him, spreading out her books between them and beginning to silently take notes—notes which she would surely give to him at the end of the lesson, to copy up, as she had always done, every lesson they were in together. She glanced out of the window

_(and she saw a rabbit, as white as snow, as white as paper, hop hop hopping along, down on the field, innocent and cuddly and she wondered what it meant, why she was seeing these things, why it reminded her of that boy)_

before looking at Kiba.

He rested his head on the desk, winked at her, and then closed his eyes—his breathing began to rapidly slow and his face twitched from troubled to peaceful, as quickly as that. Her eyes lingered on his scarred cheeks—two short, deep cuts, just under each eye. His father had given him those, when they were twelve. Kiba had gone to see 'a guy he knew'; he disappeared into a shop with boarded up windows and then reappeared with a red triangular tattoo on either cheek. She asked if it hurt. He said it hurt like a bitch.

She hadn't known if he was talking about the scars or the tattoos. She figured it was a bit of both.

The next day, he'd come to school with a red scarf around his neck; and Sakura had reached out towards him, gingerly, just as she had done when she'd first seen him, earlier. Back then, Kiba had slapped her hand away and told her he didn't want to talk about it.

People had talked about his family before—parents threw him disapproving looks—and Sakura had known most of his story. His father was a drunk. His father was insane. He beat the mother and raped the children. He particularly liked his little boy. His little boy wore long sleeves and scarves to hide the bruises, where his father had gripped too tightly or bitten too hard.

So, one night Kiba's mother scooped up her two children and fled, taking the dogs with her—she'd always liked those dogs. And, since then, they'd had to keep running, because Kiba's father liked his little boy a bit too much and always wanted him back.

Kiba had left her first when she was twelve, then when she was thirteen—then he'd left for a few months again, just before her fourteenth birthday, then stayed for a while and left just after she was sixteen. Then he'd left her when she was eighteen. Each time he came back, he wore short sleeves underneath his hooded grey jacket; and, eventually, that jacket left as well, and he simply wore short sleeved tops all the time, no matter the weather. He told her he'd burnt the red scarf to ashes.

She was just glad he'd come back safely now.

She was just glad there weren't any marks anymore.

That the red scarf had gone.

Sakura watched Kiba sleep, whimpering every now and then, his face switching easily back into troubled and felt bad. Every time he saw a red scarf, he probably relived the memories. He was probably reliving the memories in his dreams.

(just like how she remembered her mother and her father god bless their souls)

She returned to her note taking, shaking the miserable thoughts from her head; what mattered was that he was here now. The past meant nothing. He was here now and they were going to be Lost Boys again, at the age of nineteen! She wondered briefly if that was too old to be a Lost Boy. She dismissed the thought.

**.**

**.**

09:03:02

"We're going to be _late,_" Naruto murmured, hitching his bag strap further up his shoulder, listening to his shoes squeak as he walked down the school hallway. He took in the lockers, the textbooks, the red alarm and it was all too familiar. He felt a pang of homesickness for his last school—unlike that dickwad, _he _hadn't been home tutored and it was difficult and painful to transfer into another school.

Oh well.

He was Naruto, the eternal Bounce Back Kid.

He glanced down at the timetable in his hands and blanched. "Advanced… _advanced placement Calculus? _What, does God hate me or something?" He snapped, rubbing the sheet of paper as if to see if there was a mistake in the print. There wasn't. He threw his hands into the air. "Why _me? _I failed Calculus—and Biology and Physics, but that's not the point."

There was a low chuckle from behind him, reminding him that he _wasn't _alone.

"Yeah, I bet you find this hilarious," the blonde muttered, checking the room number—room C2, Main School.

"It's back here, idiot."

Naruto doubled around, shot his dark haired friend a glare, and then knocked once on the door.

**.**

**.**

09:05:32

There was a knock on the door.

Sakura's eyes flickered up briefly from her neat handwriting, on her notepaper, and then she looked back down. It was probably just a message, for some busybody whose mother could not pick them up, for one reason or another. She flicked back a page in her notes, writing down some reference page numbers, ignoring the person at the door altogether.

"…the transfer students!"

A bright, horribly familiar voice echoed in her ears.

She didn't _want _to look up. She was afraid of what she might see. She listened as the professor nodded.

"Okay, listen up, class! We've got some cute new transfer students," the old man rolled his eyes, beckoning them in. "Something for the ladies, I think. Introduce yourself, boys."

Someone bowed.

"I'm Uzumaki Naruto! Pleased to meet you."

(white rabbit)

The professor gestured with his hand. "And you, pretty boy?"

"…Uchiha Sasuke."

(a mad hatter)

Sakura looked up then. Grass green eyes—eyes like marbles—met stony, coal black and stayed there, for a second. Then, quickly, her eyes flickered to the left and Naruto's face brightened up. He waved.

"Oh, Sakura-_chaaaaaaan!"_

She paled.

The entire class span in their seats, turning to face her.

Naruto waved again.

Sasuke smirked.

She lifted a hand weakly in greeting.

"H—hello, Naruto… Sasuke…"

It was as though the breath had been knocked entirely out of her. The professor glanced quickly from the transfer students to his smartest, most prized student, before sighing loudly. "Alright then, boyo," he murmured, flapping his hands at Sasuke. "Take your annoying friend here and find yourself a seat."

Sakura slumped, placing her head in her hands—and then someone tipped her off her chair, scooped her up, and placed her next to the window. She blinked at Kiba, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged. "You looked uncomfortable and they're heading this way."

Sure enough, Sasuke was dragging a protesting Naruto to the back seat.

Her classmates were already beginning to whisper.

Kiba slouched back in his chair, linking his hands together and attempting to fall asleep—but Naruto's voice was getting louder and louder, and his friend didn't appear to want to do anything about it. The chair next to him scraped backwards. The squawking blonde sat down and beamed at Sakura.

Her skin turned ever paler.

She was snow white.

Kiba raised an eyebrow—and she was shaking.

Was she… _scared?_

Naruto appeared to have noticed it too, because his eyes widened and he held his hands up in front of him as if to say he meant no harm. He opened his mouth to speak and was silenced by a shove from Sasuke.

"Not here. Not now."

He glanced at Kiba pointedly, and Naruto nodded slowly. The Uchiha smirked, arrogantly, like he was somehow superior to Sakura's old friend, just because he knew something Kiba didn't. He narrowed his eyes.

That was when he decided he didn't like Uchiha Sasuke.

…Or, to a lesser extent, Uzumaki Naruto.

Kiba grabbed Sakura's wrist and stood up, dragging her to her feet as well—she blinked at him, alarmed, but he ignored her. "Professor," he called down to the front, and the old man looked up at him. "I'm sorry, but Sakura's not feeling very well. She's all pale and shivery. I'm going to take her to the nurse."

"Yes, yes; go ahead."

He pulled Sakura past Naruto, who blinked, obviously bewildered at the change of events, and then past the Uchiha—they glanced at each other and it was as though time slowed down. For a second, Kiba swore he saw red swirling in Sasuke's eyes—then he blinked, and it was gone. He missed Sasuke murmur something to Sakura as she hurried after Kiba; it was only the fact that he felt her tense and shaking disappear, that he knew something had happened.

Whatever.

_("you can't tell him anything. he's safer that way.")_

He was going to find out the moment they were out of that classroom and away from those transfer students. There was something off about them, he could feel it—the air around them felt scratchy and their smiles hid secrets

(scars?)

about Sakura that he desperately needed to know. He was her friend. If anyone could make her scared like that—make her shake like that—he _needed _to know.

_(she thought she saw a grin, a fading, swirling, sliding grin, the tip of one canine protruding over the bottom lip, she thought she saw the grin of the deadly Cheshire cat but she was wrong wrong wrong)_

He glanced back over his shoulder—she was peering at the top of a locker, making no effort to hide the horror on her face. His eyes slid across to where she was looking.

There was nothing there.

He raised an eyebrow, sighed blearily, and continued walking, and waiting until he finally found a deserted corridor. He glanced into the classroom doors as he passed—there was no one around. He smirked slightly, and then pushed her gently against a locker, pinning her in place, using his arms to block her escape routes. For a second, she didn't look at him—her eyes stayed staring at the top of that locker, wild and unseeing—and then she turned to blink at him, tilting her head slightly. "…I thought we were going to the nurse's office?" She mumbled, aware of the close proximity of their bodies and feeling uncomfortable.

Kiba ignored her.

Instead, he searched her eyes. They were the same as he remembered—wide, grassy green, flecks of darker colours, swirling and captivating—but they were different. Before, they had seemed so innocent. Naïve of the world. He, of course, had known better—Sakura was far from naïve; she had always been the smartest girl he knew.

Now her eyes were filled with barely concealed fear.

"Who are they?"

"They're old friends," Sakura said smoothly, but her lashes lowered and her eyes flickered to the side; Kiba narrowed his eyes.

"Liar."

She said nothing.

"…Why can't you tell me?"

Her eyes fixed on his shoulder.

(09:10:45)

_(she saw a lizard, a bright green lizard, running, creeping, slithering over his shoulder, and she wanted to reach out and bat it away, but she couldn't because she knew he couldn't see it, couldn't feel it)_

"…Because it's dangerous."

Kiba grinned.

"I'm good at running, Sakura."

There was a low chuckle from behind them.

Kiba tensed, eyes widening slightly, flicking to the side and then back to Sakura's face—she was straining to see the intruder, but Kiba was almost entirely in the way. She hoped against hope that it was just Sasuke.

She knew it wasn't.

"You'd better be good at running, little brat," the intruder said, and then all hell broke loose.

**.**

**.**

09:10:45

Idly, Naruto watched a bright green lizard do flip flops over his AP Calculus teacher. It somersaulted and twisted, floating so that he could see it's spotty belly—it performed one final leap, one final twist, and then vanished altogether.

He yawned.

It wasn't often you see a lizard do gymnastics over—

He froze.

Next to him, Sasuke had already vanished.

**.**

**.**

Sakura dived to the side, dragging Kiba to the floor with her, as the intruder fired his first round of machine gun bullets—they thudded into the locker where she'd been stood just moments before, some of them ricocheting, and she knew that, more than anything, she had to get Kiba to safety. His eyes were dazed and unseeing. If she left him on his own, he would surely die.

"Next round!" The intruder roared, spinning to point the gun at her—it was huge and terrifying, and as she gazed down the unblinking black eye, she thought it was over.

Then she span quickly, so fast that she became a blur, shoved her hand _through _the locker behind her and pulled it up to shield her body. The first shower of bullets punched through the locker, the noise temporarily deafening her—and the door she'd held onto first pulled away, littered with cruel, gaping holes. She heard empty shells scatter and roll across the floor. She heard Kiba pant somewhere to her right, hopefully safe, hopefully unhurt.

She heard more panting and then trainers squeak across the floor, moving quickly.

There was a thud, as two bodies collided, and the machine gun fire spluttered to a stop. Without thinking, she threw herself out from behind the locker, rolled, and then took in the scene before her.

The intruder was a tall and thin man; the right side of his face was so dry, it seemed as though he had scales. His eyes were set too far apart in his thin face; they were wide and bulging. They peered slightly off to the right, cold and unseeing, and she shivered. He didn't blink. He wore a tight green jumpsuit—if it had not been for the creases in the material, she would have assumed it was his skin and left it at that—with a long darker green coat.

He was a lizard man.

And he was looking straight at Kiba.

Her eyes widened. Those footsteps she had heard earlier; that thud she had heard just seconds before—they had both been Kiba. He'd been trying to help her, trying to save her, and now he was lying sprawled across the ground, keeping himself up with his elbows; a machine gun was pointed at his head, the barrel resting lazily against his forehead.

The man's eyes bulged and then he closed them, heaving a deep sigh. He turned to Sakura. "…Alice-_chan. _You're a _bad _friend, Alice—why would you let such a cute guy get killed? Why'd you let me splatter his brains across the floor? Why don't you…"

He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a black revolver, and threw it at her feet.

"…_kill yourself?"_

She looked down at it, unable to understand. The gun would probably fit snugly in her hand—now that she thought about it, there were probably worse ways to go; one pull of a trigger, and the responsibility would gone.

Naruto's freedom would be gone.

That was sad.

She kind of liked him.

She crouched slowly, picking the gun gingerly up just as footsteps rounded the corner; she glanced up, meeting Sasuke's eyes. He raised an eyebrow, glanced at the gun in her hand, at Kiba lying on the floor, at the man with the machine gun, and then back at her. This time, he raised both of his eyebrows.

"…got lost back near the science classrooms, asshole—you could have at least _waited _for me—" Naruto's voice croaked, ending abruptly, and he too took a quick glance at the action; at the excitement; that he had missed.

His eyes landed on the gun in Sakura's hand.

Surprisingly, he was speechless.

Her lips twitched into a small smile. She liked that. _She _made a _boy_ speechless—her with her baggy jumpers and her tiny breasts and her creepy eyes—_she _made a boy completely _speechless. _And all for the wrong reasons. Her eyes flicked back to the lizard man and she noticed that he was smiling; almost by its own accord, her hand with the gun moved towards her head. She felt the cold metal of the barrel against her temple.

"That's it, Alice-_chan. _If you kill yourself, I won't kill the boy," the man practically purred, his thin lips stretching into a smile. "Bill the Lizard _always _keeps his promises."

"I thought you were on _our _side!" Naruto squawked, flapping his hands and shaking his head repeatedly at Sakura. She ignored him.

Bill cocked his head.

"I'm on the _winning _side, Mr Rabbit, sir."

That was when Sakura and Sasuke moved.

(09:20:25)

Sasuke moved first, if only by a fraction of a second—his hand snaked inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small object. His arm snapped back and then jerked forwards, in the blink of an eye, and the object flew through the air—as it flew, it grew bigger, until finally it was its normal full size.

It was the Mad Hatter's hat.

Except, this time, it was different—this time, the brim of the hat flashed underneath the hall lights; as it flew closer to Bill, she could see blades protruding from the brim. Each blade was as thin a needle, but deadly. She watched as Bill's eyes widened—and he was oh so _slow—_as he watched the hat, but he was helpless to stop it, because it was so _quick _and he was so _slow._

It sliced cleanly through his wrist, ricocheting off the locker behind him and landing harmlessly on the ground next to Kiba's feet. Bill the Lizard turned a peculiar shade of pale. He gazed at the stump that was his wrist—Sakura winced; it was so _slow_; and finally, as the blood spurted out in a rainbow of crimson, began to scream. They were sharp, piercing screams, broken and shattered, one after the other, going on and on and on.

(09:20:30)

Sakura snapped into motion. Her fingers curled tightly around the revolver and whipped her arm around so that the barrel of the gun was pointing at Bill. He was busy shrieking. He was busy screaming. He was too busy—too busy to notice that he was about to die.

"Oh, Bill-_chaaaan_?"

Her sing-song voice was different. Frosty and cool. Eerie. It didn't sound like her. Yet, it sounded just like her.

He gazed at her, his eyes bulging with fear. His scream died away. His lips curled into an 'o' shape, as he gazed barrel of the revolver—gazed into the unblinking barrel of a killing machine. His eyes flickered back to her.

She smiled.

Her finger squeezed. Once. Twice. Three times. The first bullet almost missed; it ripped through Bill's ear, leaving a nice bloody hole about the size of a small 5 yen coin, and then thudded into the locker behind him. The second shot pierced his shoulder. The third shot tore into his kneecap; his hands flew to the wound and his legs buckled. He dropped to the ground, whimpering, writhing beside Kiba.

For a second, Kiba thought about helping Bill—then he remembered that the motherfucker had put a machine gun to his head and asked Sakura to kill himself. He probably deserved whatever he got.

Or, at least, that's what he thought until he looked up and gazed into Sakura's eyes.

He drew back, sucking in sharply; that was _not _Sakura. Those beautiful green eyes were filled with malicious, evil intent—they weren't filled with the mixed emotions that Sakura's eyes were filled with. These were filled with nothing but the need to kill. They were not the eyes of Sakura.

(They were the eyes of _Alice.)_

"N—no…! Please… _please!" _Bill flinched away, flipped onto his back (reminding Naruto so much of the lizard he'd seen earlier, cartwheeling and tumbling, but he didn't say anything—he stayed where he was, arms folded, leaning against the locker, watching absently) and attempted to scramble away. "No, p—please, I'll do _anything!"_

"…_anything, _Bill-_chaaaan?"_

He risked a glance over his shoulder—Alice's expression was unreadable. He nodded pathetically, his fingers brushing faintly over his stinging ear; they came away red and bloody. He whimpered; and it had all been going so well. "Anything!" He agreed.

"…kill yourself."

Bill froze.

"Pick up that machine gun and put it against you head and, BANG, BANG, BANG. Shoot yourself dead, Bill-_chaaaan. _I know you can do it. You have until three. One—"

He rushed for the gun.

"—two—"

His fingers fumbled around the sleek black beast.

"—_three."_

He whipped the gun around, with a triumphant shout—it died immediately in his throat, as he found himself gazing back down the barrel of the revolver. He looked upwards. Alice's eyes seemed dead to him. Inhuman. Hateful.

"You picked the wrong team, Bill."

She squeezed the trigger.

**.**

**.**

**M**

**A**

**S**

**Q**

**U**

**E**

**R**

**A**

**D**

**E**

**.**

**.**

_so follow me down down down  
into the hateful black abyss_

**.**

**.**

She can't remember pulling the trigger.

She can remember everything else. Everything _before:_

The begging.

The writhing.

The crawling.

The pleading.

The pitiable attempt to fight back.

The shock.

She can remember everything _after:_

The look of horror on Kiba's face.

The brains and blood splattered across the locker, the floor, the walls, Kiba's clothes, Kiba's face, the front of her jumper.

The way she wiped the revolver on her clothes, removing all fingerprints, before laying it out neatly beside the dead Bill the Lizard.

Naruto's approving nod.

Sasuke's self satisfied smirk, as he retrieved his (now bloody) hat, and tucked it away in his pocket.

The horribly fake scream that left her mouth.

She remembers the teachers, who flooded the scene, took one look at Bill and began to scream themselves—she remembers those who were braver telling the teenagers to stay back. She remembers how the crowd swept past the teachers anyway. She remembers Naruto babbling about how a psycho ran into the school and announced he would kill Kiba and then himself. She remembers the tall blonde girl, who rushed out and wrapped her arms around her, telling her that she was just in shock and everything was okay.

She remembers the way Kiba stared at her as if he were finally seeing her.

She remembers everything.

Except killing him.

She wonders if that is a blessing or a curse.

**.**

**.**

"You poor _baby!" _

Sakura winced, grasping her pillow and pushing it down over her head, burying as deeply into the covers as she could—but not before she spotted blonde girl stroking Naruto's hair; the latter was looking immensely pleased with himself, as the girl sat be, side his bed, completely ignoring Sasuke. They were in the sickbeds, down next to the nurse's office; technically, there were only two, and she and Kiba had had them originally—then Naruto had suddenly shoved her friend away, wrapped himself in two blankets, and attempted to look as sick as possible.

The blonde girl had fallen for his tricks.

Now, Kiba was sat beside Sakura's bed, staring at her stonily—every now and then, she'd look up and see the cogs whirring away inside his way, chugging away, trying to find an answer. She knew he wouldn't find one. She hadn't been able to find one herself.

The door opened quietly and Sasuke slipped into the room. Beside her, Kiba tensed, his face suddenly becoming carefully blank—but she could see his eyes were furious; after all, who else did he have to blame, except Sasuke and Naruto? Who else could _she _blame except those two and… herself?

"Sakura."

She yanked the pillow off her head, fluffed it up, and then placed it back in its original place; she pulled herself upwards so that she was in a sitting position, and gazed at the Uchiha, trying her hardest not to meet his eyes. She didn't like his eyes. They were too captivating, enchanting; too damn _hypnotising._

His fingers tilted her chin gently upwards.

"_Sakura." _Her eyes finally met his and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. If she wasn't careful, those eyes would drag her down. If she wasn't sharp enough, those eyes would tear her apart. If she wasn't smart enough,

(she'd fall in love)

those eyes would kill her. She looked away.

"Sakura, we need to _talk," _she'd thought it would be Sasuke who spoke next; instead, Kiba's voice trembled, strained and hoarse; she glanced at him—he wouldn't look at her.

_(those grass green eyes would tear him apart, would drag him down, would kill him, would make him fall fall fall in love)_

Naruto scoffed. "Wasn't that what you were trying to do, before Bill came and kicked your ass, and Sakura had to save you?"

Kiba ignored him.

"Who is _Alice?"_

Sasuke's eyes narrowed and he tensed slightly—Naruto snorted loudly, rolled over and turned back to the blonde girl—she, meanwhile, was busy watching the scene, with wide eyes. Sakura never took her eyes off Kiba's face. He didn't look scared, like she thought he would; instead, he looked mildly disappointed that she'd even dare keep a secret from him; but his knuckles were stark white and shaking slightly, and she knew that he was also angry. She just wasn't sure why. She reached out, slowly, carefully, and this time, he didn't flinch away as she placed her hand gently on his.

"I can't tell you—you're safer that way."

"Bull_shit. _Don't give me that 'you're safer if you don't know' crap," Kiba's voice was a whisper. "Because I didn't know then, did I? And some psycho put a machine gun to my head. And I don't know now, do I? And your Uchiha boyfriend looks like he wants to rip my throat out."

Sakura glanced at Sasuke.

His face held no expression, but he was looking at Kiba with eyes that suggested he _would _very much enjoy pulling the other boy apart. He probably could, too.

"So don't give me that crap. _Tell me._"

His eyes were filled with longing, now; the disappointment had almost disappeared. She remembered, briefly, when they were younger and they pinky promised. We won't run from each other. We won't hurt each other. We'll stick together forever. We'll never ever grow up. She remembered linking their little fingers together, hands sticky, faces grubby and chanting the words together, over and over again. She remembered his smile. She remembered her laughter.

And she knew she was going to tell him.

"…_I'm_ Alice."

Sasuke's words floated back into her head: you can't tell him anything—he's safer that way. She pushed them aside easily. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and began to speak.

"I don't… I don't understand it much either," she shot a glance at Naruto, who shrugged sheepishly. "But in the, uhm, _dream land, _there's a place called Wonderland. It's part of a big, sick Game, and Sasuke… Sasuke and Naruto are the contestants. I got picked for it, picked to be Alice, and now I have to win the Game, so I can free all of Wonderland and kill the Queen of Hearts. But, I guess the Rules are much more complicated than _that._"

She pulled a face.

"When you said that you'd be seeing me in the Real World, I didn't think…"

"You didn't think I meant it?" Sasuke drawled, tilting his head as Sakura nodded numbly. "Think of this as the only Rule of Wonderland; to survive, you must remember that _anything _is possible, _always."_

Sakura nodded again, feeling pathetic and weak. How could she expect the unexpected, when anything, and everything, could happen? Before Wonderland had appeared, nonsense had no meaning—now, it was everything. She had to believe the unbelievable and predict the unpredictable. She had to survive in a Game that had no Rules and no limits.

She had to survive.

Kiba cleared his throat loudly. "If you're fighting to free all of Wonderland, why are you being… _hunted?"_

"Because the Queen of Hearts doesn't want to die, _duh_," Naruto replied easily, despite the fact that the question had been directed at Sakura—she watched miserably as Kiba scowled angrily, looking as though he wanted nothing more than to punch the blonde boy in the face. "So the Queen of Hearts rounds up a big army because, before Alice returns, the Queen is _the _Queen. To openly rebel equals an instant, painful death. So people listen—and when they listen, they lose faith, like poor old Bill. He was nice. He used to live in my back garden, in Wonderland; I think that's why he called me Mr Rabbit. I don't know."

Sasuke, meanwhile, was busy scowling at Sakura. "You shouldn't have told him any of this. He's a liability. He'll get himself killed."

Sakura opened her mouth to respond.

"Ex—excuse me…?"

Everyone turned to gaze at the blonde girl; Sakura had forgotten she was even there. She'd heard everything, of course.

"I was just thinking," the girl continued, ignoring Sasuke's disapproving glare and the fact that Naruto was busy staring at her breasts. "Wouldn't it be good to have someone in outside of… Wonderland? You guys will be busy, uh, fending off fairytale creatures with machine guns and machetes; he could be finding information on… Wonderland…?" She trailed off lamely, clasped her hands in front of her and glanced nervously off to the side.

There was silence.

"That is the best idea I've heard so far!" Sakura said, smiling easily at the girl. "I don't think I know your name."

The girl raised an eyebrow.

"…Yamanaka Ino."

Oh. _Oh. _Yamanaka Ino: captain of the cheerleading squad. Yamanaka Ino: the flawless, perfect blue-eyed blonde. Yamanaka Ino: the most loved girl in the school. Yamanaka Ino: the boys all adored her and the girls wanted to be her. Yamanaka Ino: who'd started school with braces and greasy skin. Yamanaka Ino: the kind of girl who could make highschool life a misery for Sakura, if she wanted to. Yamanaka Ino: everyone knew her name. _That _Yamanaka Ino.

"Oh," Sakura responded lamely, wanting nothing more than to curl up and disappear into nothing, withering underneath the cheerleader's piercing gaze.

Ino frowned slightly, tapping one perfect finger, with perfect nails, against her perfect lips; everything about her screamed perfection. She reminded Sakura of sweets; wonderful to look at, and tasty at first—but eat too much, gorge for too long, and you end up feeling sick; I've had enough candy, ma'am, no more for me, thanks. Yamanaka Ino, the candy girl.

The candy girl smiled warmly, and Sakura knew she was forgiven. "You know what else would be good? _I _should help Kiba!"

"…_why?" _Kiba grimaced.

Sakura sensed he'd had enough candy.

"Because _I_," Ino tapped her chest importantly, "am in just the same position as _you."_ She jabbed her finger at Kiba, who recoiled almost immediately; Sakura could not help but admire the girl. Ino was so _in control, _despite the insanity of the situation she was in—she was a born leader (a cheerleader) and by God, she was _born _to be in charge.

"That could work," Sakura said hastily, before Sasuke could shoot the blonde girl down—she glanced nervously at him, but his expression was unreadable. He considered her offer, frowned, and then finally spoke.

"There is _no _record of Wonderland in this world."

"What if there is?" Ino placed her hands on her hips. "What if you missed something? What if you were too busy fearing for your life to search properly? What if you're not looking in all the right places?"

Sasuke didn't reply.

Ino beamed in triumph. "See? You _know _I have a point."

"Yeah, that seems pretty fair," Naruto said, from his position sprawled across the second hospital bed, tangled up in the sheets. "I mean, we're going to be busy protecting Alice-chan, so we can't do anything about it."

"And maybe—_maybe_—if we discover the secret of Wonderland, we can put an end to it. We can end the Game _forever,_" Sakura offered, her voice filled with hope. The idea of ending the Game was just too wonderful. She had only been playing for a few days and that much was more than enough. She just wanted…

She just wanted her normal life back, as odd as it seemed. She wanted to wake up and look forward to a normal, average day. She didn't want to fear for her life at school, where she was supposed to be safe. She didn't want to follow the White Rabbit, with his charming grin and sparkling eyes. She didn't want to sit with March Hare and the Dormouse, and drink tea and eat biscuits. She didn't want to even see the Mad Hatter, with his dark eyes and a voice as smooth as chocolate.

Sasuke raised his eyebrow, but remained (thankfully) quiet.

Her eyes flickered over to Kiba; he'd definitely share her joy, she was certain of it. Her eyes met his, just for a fraction of a second, and then looked away, uncomfortably. It was too late. She'd already seen the truth in his eyes.

He didn't believe her.

…she'd prove him wrong.

**.**

**.**

_The priest is stood at the front of the church, Bible in front of him, his eyes filled with unquestionable adoration and undying loyalty. In the first few rows, are the regulars—the ones who always say their prayers; the ones who believe. Behind them, are a few stragglers, sitting in random rows, not too close to the front, not too far from the back—they glance nervously, sheepishly, at each other, not quite certain, not fully believing. They are the ones who will fall fastest. One pretty word, one charming prayer, and they are gone. In a few days, they will be sat in the front rows. They will not question God._

_At the back, with his arms crossed, sits the Knave of Hearts. He watches silently for a moment, inwardly scoffing; these people do not know God, not truly—they believe in a lie. If God truly exists, he thinks, then he is nothing but a murdering bastard. If God truly exists, then he created Wonderland. If God truly exists, he has condemned this poor Knave to hell._

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference…"

_The Knave inspected a stained glass window, idly, marvelling at the way the sun shone through the dull colours—brightened them, so to speak—if there was one thing he had to admit, it was that churches were generally beautiful places. With their old and musty smell—it reminded him of the damp and the dark and his childhood. It brought back happy memories. _

"…living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardships as the pathway to peace…"

_He closed his eyes, leaning back on his wooden bench, wincing slightly at how uncomfortable they were—and then his expression became blank, and he felt nothing but peace. He was content. He could forget. He could forget Wonderland and its horrors. He could forget the cursed task that had fallen upon his shoulders. He could forget the man who thought himself to be God._

_He could forget._

_He felt the bench dip slightly—heard the creak of the wooden planks moving—and a small smile flitted across his face. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He opened his eyes and bowed his head respectfully._

"_Your majesty," he murmured, keeping his voice as low as possible. "It is dangerous."_

_The Queen wore a perfectly sculpted mask, made of ivory. It was as white as snow. It was no doubt extremely expensive. The Knave glanced appreciatively at it, taking in the Queen's navy suit, as well, and the white cufflinks, with the red hearts. The Queen watched the priest for a moment, before finally responding._

"_I am aware."_

"_They have approached Alice," the Knave continued, lowering his gaze to the floor. "We know. The lizard was sent to test her—she defeated him easily."_

_The Queen studied his subordinate, before turning back to the priest. "Tell the cat he has done well."_

_The Knave nodded once. "He wishes to know when his brother will be returned to him. He wants evidence that his brother is still alive."_

_The Queen turned back to him, staring straight at him—blood red swirled in those eyes—blood red insanity and death and hatred. Blood red met brown. The Knave found himself unable to look away—captured by those hateful eyes. His breathing became difficult, until he no longer knew _how _to breath; he gasped, his hands flying up to his throat, his eyes rolling back in his head; and then the Queen closed his eyes and the spell was broken._

"_Do not test me, Knave."_

"_The boy is dead, isn't he?"_

"_The cat killed him," the Queen explained. _

"_It was your doing, though, wasn't it? Your eyes…" The Knave trailed off, pushed his glasses back up his noses, and then continued. "You used them to trick him. What evidence will we give him?"_

"_Bring the cat to me. I will give him all the evidence he needs."_

"…taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will…"

"_Your majesty; we know Alice's true name, her face and where she lives," the Knave ventured, frowning slightly. "We could kill her now and end this Game. Why…?"_

"_I understand now," the Queen responded, her voice blank, and the Knave of Hearts found himself hating that blank, expressionless, snow-white mask. "I understand the true meaning of this Game. I cannot defeat it, unless I break Alice. By breaking Alice, I shall shatter Wonderland and all of its inhabitants. I shall kill Alice, of course, but only after I have broken her fully—and broken the hatter and rabbit and all the others who follow her way. I will break Wonderland and then I will put it back together again. No one will cross my path."_

_It made sense, in its own twisted away. Simply killing Alice was not enough—Alice needed to be humiliated and broken, before her defeat. She needed to give up. She needed to beg and plead for mercy. _

_Only then would the Queen of Hearts reign comfortably over Wonderland._

"…that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him forever in the next."

_The Queen stood up abruptly, staring dispassionately at the Knave of Hearts. "You are a loyal subordinate, Knave," his voice was soft and low and oh so cold. "I am forced to trust you, for now. Do not make me kill you."_

_The Knave smirked._

"_I'll try not to."_

_The Queen nodded in farewell, before turning and slipping out of the building, flitting away like a shadow. The Knave did not watch him leave—instead, he turned back to the priest, who was shutting the Bible fondly, as though it were his friend, and smiling. _

"Amen."

**.**

**.**

"How did _you_ know?"

The question had only just occurred to Sakura, as she stepped past the lockers littered with bullet holes and the blood stained tiles, walking sombrely in between Sasuke and Naruto—Kiba had been dragged away by Ino, off to do some early research on Wonderland, see what they could find out, and she missed his familiarity. But, as she walked beside them, the question nagged at her constantly.

Naruto eyed her warily. "…know _what?"_

She flapped her hands. "How did you know where I was? How did you know to come, just then? How did you know that something had happened; that I needed your help? Just… _how?"_

"Magic."

She scowled at Naruto. "I'm asking a serious question here—"

"—and I gave you a serious answer!" The blonde responded, sounding indignant and feeling slightly upset that she didn't believe him. "We don't understand it—you suddenly see this images, these illusions, when someone playing the Game appears. Like, when Bill turned up, I saw a lizard. Sasuke saw it too."

The Uchiha nodded.

Sakura felt herself pale. That explained it, then—all of the little things she been seeing; the boy with the hat, the rabbit on the field, the little lizard she'd seen—they'd all been _warnings. _

"You can see them as well," Naruto continued hastily. "The Game gives you a bit of a warning, you just have to be looking out for them—however, Alice doesn't have an illusion, which means you're safe. Alice can't see the Queen of Hearts' illusion, either, but we can."

"The Cheshire Cat doesn't have an illusion, either."

Sakura froze.

Images flashed in her mind: above the lockers, she'd seen it. A grin. Swirling and fading, with one pointy canine showing. She'd seen the grin of the Cheshire Cat. But he… he didn't _have _an illusion, so she couldn't have—it wasn't possible.

_(anything is possible, alice)_

"…Are you okay, Sakura-chan?"

Naruto's voice was distorted, as though she were deep underwater—and his voice seemed to be distant. She realized she'd stopped walking. She'd probably stopped breathing.

"…Sakura-chan?"

She remembered the Cheshire Cat; the way he'd eaten that bird so easily, the blood dribbling down his chin, his mocking voice. He'd whispered her name. He'd known she was. How many other girls were there, called Sakura, with bubblegum pink hair? It had probably been so easy to find out who she was and where she lived. And what had Sasuke said? Never, under any circumstances, should she trust the Cheshire Cat.

"_Sakura."_

She blinked. Sasuke was stood directly in front of her, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring directly into her eyes—Naruto stood a little further back, watching anxiously.

"He's here, isn't he?"

"W—who?" But she knew exactly who Sasuke was talking about.

"…The Cheshire Cat."

She nodded slowly.

Sasuke's face was unreadable. He lowered his gaze to the floor and she found herself noticing how long his lashes were; then she wondered why she had noticed such an unimportant thing, and found herself unable to answer.

When Sasuke looked up, he was smiling.

"…it's_ started_."

**.**

**.**

The Cheshire Cat smiled, tugging his knees to his chest as he sat comfortably on one of the two hospital beds—it was still warm. It was the one the little rabbit had been lying in; he could smell the blonde on the pillows. His eyes strayed over to the other bed—_Alice's bed_—and his smile widened.

"You're going to have to be more careful, Alice-chan, otherwise people are going to get hurt," he scolded the bed, all the while still grinning. "You'll end up losing friends and family and everyone."

He tilted his head, hearing Alice's answer—except the voice he heard was lower, kinder, obviously male—it was the voice of his brother.

_("just like you then, mr cat?")_

The Cheshire Cat's smile faltered. "…Yes. Just like me."

_("don't worry, mr cat—i'm sure your brother isn't hurting too much. in fact, i'm certain of it. he's in a much better place, am i right? you know you can't save him—you're far too late.")_

"What do you know, Alice-chan? You're blindly following that Mad Hatter—blindly falling into his mess, and you can't scrabble out of it."

The voice in his head did not reply.

The Cheshire Cat smiled.

"I'm a cuddly little kitten, when you compare me to the Hatter."

_("i trust the mad hatter—just like how your brother trusted you.")_

"And look where it got him, Alice-chan," the Cheshire Cat laughed, tapping his forehead. "Now he's just a voice in my head. He doesn't live—he doesn't breath—he's just a little voice up here who nag, nag, NAGS away at me. You sound just like him, Alice-chan."

_("i am him, mr cat.")_

"I know."

_("i wonder if you'll be strong enough to save me.")_

**.**

**.**

—welcome to Wonderland, children; where the grass is blue and the sky is green and no one can hear you scream. Welcome to Wonderland, kiddies; where the flowers are beautiful and the people are beautiful and when they pull your heart out, you'll be beautiful too. Welcome to Wonderland, my friends; where nothing is as it seems but everything is so painfully obvious.

Welcome to Wonderland; where it's kill or be killed and there is nothing wondrous about it.

Enjoy your stay.


	4. trois: the mixed up memories

**project: **masquerade  
**disclaimer: **i do not own naruto, or the characters in it, or wonderland.  
**summary: **she will follow the white rabbit. she will fall in love with the mad hatter. she will kill the queen of hearts. but fairytales don't always have a happily ever after and she doesn't believe in once upon a times.  
**pairings: **sasusaku  
**notes: **so basically, i've taken liberties with the uchihas—aka, i've stolen a different character (the cheshire cat) and thrown them into that family.  
**chapter: **trois: the mixed up memories

**

* * *

**

—don't ever laugh  
as the hearse goes by  
for you may be the next to

die

**.**

**.**

**he closes his eyes  
**((and she's alone))

**.**

**.**

The room was bathed with blood.

It dripped from the ceiling in thick, fat droplets, splashing lightly onto the floor. It trickled down the walls, still warm and still fresh—it fell from the window ledges, the plant pots, the bookshelves and every single nook and cranny. The television flickered black and white; then, finally, it too became red, sprayed with the liquid.

It coated his eyelashes and hair; it stood out, bright red, against his pale skin. It clashed with his top, he remembered; his mother had dressed him in blue, because she loved the colour so much and she said it made him look magnificent. The blood stained it purple. It looked odd. His mother wouldn't like it at all.

_It doesn't matter what she likes,_ he thought.

_She's dead now._

The little boy stood in the middle of the red room, trembling, terrified. His mother—his loving, caring, wonderful mother—lay broken on the floor, a few steps ahead of him.

Her blouse was torn open. A long, jagged rip ran down the middle of her body, just between her breasts; stretching from underneath her chin, right down to the bottom of her stomach. It was a wide rip—cruel and disgusting. A repulsive way for such a beautiful woman to die. She was lying on her back, with her feet facing away from him, but her head was tilted back, so that he could see her ghoulish features.

Her mouth was curved into a clownish grin. Her eyes had been pulled from her face. All that were left were gaping, oozing sockets. He stared into them, transfixed, until finally he couldn't take it any longer. He dropped to his knees and bent over, his entire body shaking. His tears mingled with the blood running down his face.

She was twisted and _wrong._

She—that _thing—_was not his mother.

He heard footsteps; one, two, one, t_wo, one, TWO—_getting faster and faster; and he felt his heartbeat quicken. Within moments, the person

(the monster)

outside the room would be there. They'd fling open the door. They'd chop him in half. Just like his dearest mother. Chop, chop, CHOP. And, oh, how he longed to move, to hide, to do _anything—_but he was frozen.

The footsteps stopped.

He could hear breathing—only faintly—and then a panicked scream.

The little boy moved.

He launched himself over his mother, tripping over her foot and catapulting headfirst towards the bed. He threw his hands over his head instinctively, protecting himself, and twisted slightly; he slid carefully, easily, underneath the bed, scraping his elbow across the floor and thudding into the wall. He curled himself into a ball and pressed his bloody hands against his mouth, tasting copper, muffling his sobs.

The door flung open. It wasn't the monster—the little boy could tell, almost immediately. This man was frenzied and panicked. He was panting heavily, as though he'd just run a long race, and, upon seeing the dead woman before him, he let out an anguished wail.

It terrified the little boy.

That was the cry of a frightened, trapped animal.

The man mumbled something incomprehensible. He staggered forwards and then backwards, before swaying on the spot. There were footsteps again, apart from these were slower and calculated—slow enough to cause fear, fast enough to know there was no escape.

The little boy found himself unable to make a noise. He lay there, curled up, one arm hugging his knees to his body, the other pressed against his mouth—he felt his fingernails digging into his damp cheeks, but he couldn't move. His eyes were wild and panicked, and his heartbeat quickened, but he felt a curious sense of calm overcome him. For the first time in a long while, he felt at ease.

The door opened. Light spilled dimly into the room. It was blocked out by a figure. The man sobbed feebly. The door closed.

The monster smiled.

"…I found you, Father."

The man let out another strangled sob and took a step back. The monster's smile widened—stretching and stretching, just like his mother's—and he took a single step forward. The other man screamed and fell backwards, sprawled across the bed.

Underneath it, the little boy remained silent.

"Well now, Father. This is _pathetic_," the monster drawled, and that's when the little boy saw the deadly katana by his side. "Mother put up such a fight. It was…"

The monster paused, his tongue flicking out and hesitantly tasting a smudge of blood by his mouth. There was a moment of tense silence, punctuated only by harsh panting and the occasionally sob.

His cruel smile became wider.

"…_exquisite."_

He smacked his fingers against his lips, mimicking a chef, and then doubled over, howling with laughter. Scary. The scariest thing the little boy had ever heard. Ever seen. The stuff of nightmares.

The man appeared to think so too; his wails and cries became louder, almost drowning out the manic laughter, but not quite.

Almost.

Eventually, the noise died down. The monster straightened, dusting himself down, wiping a tear from his eye, and then lifted the katana. Immediately, the man across the bed began to write and struggle, begging and pleading.

The monster frowned.

"Why didn't you tell me it was Mother?"

The man froze instantly.

"Come on now, Mr Hatter. Why didn't you tell me you'd fallen in love with Alice? You should've—you should've _told me. _I would have killed you sooner."

"But _you're…!"_

"Yes, Father. You can take our little secret to the grave, just like Mother dearest."

The katana arched through the air, a glimpse of silver followed by a spray of red and a piercing scream. It swept across the floor, before lifting and falling again. Another splatter of crimson. The little boy could feel it soaking the bed, dripping through the mattress and splashing across his face.

He whimpered, before he could stop himself—instantly, he clamped his hands against his mouth and remained as still as he could.

The monster shifted slightly.

The little boy felt a wave of relief flow through him, before he could stop himself from feeling it—he visibly relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders. He moved his hands slightly, away from his mouth. And then the monster dropped into a crouch, and red eyes appeared in the darkness, followed by a chilling smile.

The little boy froze.

A scream bubbled in his throat.

"Shush now, Brother," the monster pressed a finger against his lips. "You ought to sleep."

And, in the darkness, those red eyes seemed to spin around and around, getting bigger and bigger, until the little boy could see nothing else. Those red eyes filled his vision—filled the room—filled the _world. _He forgot about his dead Father and his dead Mother and the whispers of a crazy man, and he could only think of those crimson eyes.

The colour of blood.

**.**

**.**

**she closes her eyes  
**((and she's falling))

**.**

**.**

"_close your eyes, alice-chan. it's time to sleep."_

**.**

**.**

Wonderland shook.

A hole opened up—it was black like ink, and it stained the bright blue sky. Strands of black clutched at clouds. From below, it looked like a giant spider-web. The creatures of Wonderland simultaneously looked up, scanning the sky for movement, waiting for _her _to appear; because they could feel her arrival boiling in their blood. It was as though Wonderland had a pulse—and all of the plants and animals and people of Wonderland could feel it.

Like a heartbeat.

Thumping away.

A small child in a white dress pointed at the sky.

"_Look."_

Wonderland looked.

A figure, wearing a blue dress, a white petticoat and stripy black and white tights, came plummeting through the hole. She tumbled downwards, dropping like a stone, hurtling head of heels. Spiralling, pinwheeling, she fell towards the earth.

Wonderland watched.

The girl became clearer to see—her face was pale and fearful, her eyes wide with exhilaration, and her mouth was stretched into a thin, excited smile. Adrenaline pumped through her body. She was clutching an umbrella—a pale white thing, which seemed feeble and weak in her grasp—but, just as she began to near the treetops, she held it over her head and opened it.

Almost like a parachute, it billowed upwards, and she clutched the handle desperately. For a second, she continued to descend just as quickly as before and she gazed down at the branches of the treetops.

Wonderland gasped.

Then she slowed down and heaved a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and letting out a shrill, nervous giggle. She drifted from side to side, grasping the umbrella with both hands and wondering how it could withstand her weight, then deciding that she'd never know. Wonderland wasn't that kind of place.

Everything was topsy turvy there.

She disappeared out of sight, sinking into the forest; and then Wonderland sprang into action. Everyone began to move—gathering weapons, gathering friends, gathering comrades—readying themselves for a slaughter, for a massacre.

After all, the first one to find Alice wins.

**.**

**.**

**she opens her eyes  
**((and she's there))

**.**

**.**

Sakura tugged uselessly at the umbrella handle, scowling and cursing her stupidity; she should have aimed herself slightly, steered herself towards an empty clearing or something, for her landing. Instead, she'd floated down into the middle of a forest, complete lost and nowhere near the Mad Hatter and her friends—and proceeded to get herself stuck on a branch.

She glanced down.

It didn't seem that far down. If she jumped, she was sure she'd land well—possibly not; she'd never been that great at sports, and she might break her ankle or another bone in her body. She pulled gingerly at the handle once again, before frowning and letting out a huff of annoyance.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid—!"_

"—having some trouble, Alice-chan?"

She froze.

She turned slightly, as best as she could without disturbing the umbrella—because the last thing she wanted to do, she'd decided, was fall and break her neck—and gazed at the newcomer. A figure stood in the shadows, balanced precariously on a branch, leaning against the tree trunk; and she recognised that voice. It sent chills running through her body.

"Ch—_Cheshire Cat."_

He stepped forwards, tail flicking from side to side, and beamed at her, spreading his hands wide in welcome. His eyes closed slightly, as he moved towards her, balancing perfectly on a branch—before finally stopping directly in front of her, at least an arm's length away. "It's nice to see you again, Alice-chan." He paused, tilting his head slightly to the side, and his smile became almost mocking. "I see you've gotten yourself into a spot of bother. Would you like a hand?"

He opened his eyes.

They were like the Mad Hatter's eyes, she thought to herself. So captivating. Almost enchanting. The vivid purple of the left eye; closer up, she could see that it was flecked with violet and lilac, as well as the occasional dash of indigo. The dull black of the right eye; as dark as the night sky, with the iris and the pupil blending into one.

They were dangerous—_insane._ She could get lost in those eyes.

She wrenched her gaze away, choosing instead to stare at a spot on the ground below them; she heard the Cheshire Cat chuckle, heard him shift forwards, and then suddenly his hand was cupping her face, tenderly. He brushed his fingers along the length of her jaw and she found herself marvelling at how soft they were.

She found herself staring back into his eyes.

"Sometimes…" The Cheshire Cat hesitated, unsure of what he was about to say, and his grip tightened slightly, to the point where it was almost uncomfortable. "Sometimes I just have to see if you're real, Alice-chan."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He laughed coldly, darkly, and pulled his hand away. For a few seconds, Sakura found herself missing the feeling of his touch—and then she remembered that he was the tricksy Cheshire Cat, and he was not to be trusted.

Even so, she could not help but _want _to trust him.

His eyes were so confused. He gazed first at his fingers, turning his hand over in wonder, and then stared back at her face. For a few seconds, he simply looked at her, and she looked back; and, as their eyes met, she forgot all about the umbrella and the fact that she was moments away from falling to the ground.

His eyes were lost—elsewhere—sad and alone.

_((time slows _down_))_

_He pushes open the door. Light spills into the room. His mother lies dead on the floor. Torn open. His father lies dead upon the bed. Eyes wide with horror. Guts overflowing. Steadily drip-drip-dripping through the mattress, stained purple with blood._

_He hears sobbing._

_He drops to his knees._

"…_brother…?"_

_The sobbing is stifled. He sees a face, as pale and white as the moon. He sees round, terrified eyes. They are haunted. Trapped. Replaying the events that happened just moments before. He sees blood splashed across the younger boy's face. He sees grubby hands, pressed against quivering lips._

_His lips stretch into a thin, clownish smile._

"_Don't worry, brother. The bad guy—the bad guy's gone now," he says, and he stretches out one hand, reaching out for his baby brother, junior by just under a year. His smile is forced and it trembles slightly. "No one's going to hurt you. I'm here now—"_

_He hears the clatter of something dropping to the floor. He twists just in time. The katana sinks into the ground where he was kneeling, just seconds before. He falls onto his back, leaning against the bed; and he feels his father's dead fingers brush against his head._

_The katana moves._

_He looks up._

_Above him, stands the monster. His red eyes are glowing. They are as red as the blood that seeps from his mother's body—they are crimson. He sees flecks of black moving in those eyes. They look like little teardrops. They begin to spin around and around, hypnotising and dangerously beautiful._

_The monster says something—murmurs it—and he misses it._

_The katana slices through the air again, and he barely manages to dodge. It slashes across his bare arm, cutting into his shoulder. He screams in agony. _

_He hears a whimper from beneath the bed. _

_The monster speaks again. This time, he manages to catch some of the words. Something about death. Escape. Kill or be killed. The monster smiles. The monster reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small blade; a pocket knife. He flips it around, clutching the metal blade and offering the handle to the other; he sees the blood welling up in small beads around the blade, and winces._

_The monster barely flinches._

_He takes the knife cautiously. He looks up into those crimson eyes._

"_If you want to escape, kill him, little brother. Look at him cowering beneath the bed. Kill him, and I will let you live. Kill him, and you can grow stronger. Live a little longer. A life for a life. It's your choice."_

_With that, the monster turns and leaves. The katana drags along the floor, glinting in the faint light, deadly—it sends chills down his spine. That is the weapon which has killed his mother and his father. He gazes down at the tiny blade in his hand._

_This is the weapon with which he will kill his baby brother._

_The memory grows fuzzy._

_He sees his brother—says something incomprehensible—there is a struggle—he feels his father's fingers press against him—knocks over a table—crashes to the floor—his baby brother pants, victorious—he feigns defeat and then twists, suddenly—there is a wail._

_There is a splatter of blood._

_The memory fades to black._

_((time speeds_ up_))_

Suddenly, he moved, lifting his arm upwards and reaching out towards the blue sky—Sakura blinked, momentarily startled. The Cheshire Cat gazed at his upturned palm, confused, disorientated, before stretching his fingers outwards.

"You asked me, 'why wouldn't you be real?' You're forgetting, Alice-chan…"

He trailed off.

Distantly, Sakura heard movement below her; she glanced downwards, briefly, and spotted her friends, if you could call them that. The Mad Hatter, with a teacup balanced precariously in his palm. The White Rabbit, his blue eyes wide and alarmed as he fretted about her safety. The March Hare, mysterious as always, was gazing in the opposite direction. And she could barely make out the Dormouse, but she knew he was down there with them.

The Cheshire Cat laughed cruelly.

"Wonderland doesn't have any rules."

He shifted slightly, leaning most of his weight onto his back foot—and then, before Sakura could even begin to think of a reply, he twisted, spinning on the ball of his foot. He threw his arms out as he span—and his nails became so sharp, that they sliced cleanly through her umbrella handle.

For a second, she seemed suspended in the air—her mouth making an 'o' shape, her eyes impossibly wide—and then suddenly she was hurtling downwards. Branches tore at her face and naked skin, scratching cruelly at her. She heard branches snapping and cracking as she crashed through them—she threw her hands in front of her face and kicked outwards as she fell, unable to scream.

She was falling too fast for that.

"_Sakura!"_

**.**

**.**

**he opens his eyes  
**((and she's safe))

**.**

**.**

Suddenly, she could no longer feel the branches scratching her skin—and she was no longer falling. She opened her eyes slowly, cautiously, and found herself lying in the arms of the Mad Hatter.

"You… you _caught _me…?"

She could barely hide the disbelief in her voice. That… that _wasn't _possible. Considering the speed at which she'd been hurtling towards the floor, and the height she'd fallen from, there was only the tiniest chance that he'd have been able to get to her in time. And even then, it was even more unlikely that he'd be able to catch her easily, without injuring his self or her.

That pretty face, she decided—that sculpted nose and pale skin—that was nothing more than a porcelain mask, hiding the true Sasuke.

Hiding the Mad Hatter.

His lips quirked into a smug smirk. "Hn."

Sakura rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around Sasuke's neck and leaning on him, attempting to shift herself into a more comfortable position. He grunted softly, leaning heavily on his back leg in an attempt to support her extra weight—but, despite the fact that she was perfectly fine, she didn't want to let go.

Holding onto his neck, with his arms pressing her close against his body, she felt safe.

"WAHHHH—SAKU_RAAAAA! _I WAS SO SCARED; I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO _DIE!"_ Naruto shrieked, throwing himself towards the couple—and Sasuke scowled, before unceremoniously dumping Sakura onto the ground. "SASUKE, YOU BASTARD! CAREFUL WITH SAKURA—SHE IS A PRECIOUS FLOWER—!"

"—shut up, idiot."

"WHO'RE YOU CALLING AN IDIOT, IDIOT?"

"…because _that's _original."

Shikamaru cleared his throat loudly, effectively silencing the other two. "As interesting as you two are, the Queen is waiting," he murmured, stretching and glancing briefly up at the sky. "Luckily for us, Alice—no, _Sakura_—managed to fall pretty close to the palace. It should take us around forty, maybe fifty at a stretch, minutes to get there, as long as we start moving now."

Sasuke merely grunted in response.

Sakura coughed softly, still sprawled across the floor from when Sasuke had dropped her. Naruto grinned sheepishly in response, offering her his hand and tugging her to her feet. She staggered slightly, before steadying herself and frowning slightly.

"Who's this Queen, Naruto?"

"Ah, you could say Wonderland is divided into two parts; those who side with Alice, and those who side against her," Naruto explained, rubbing the side of his face as he spoke. "Obviously, the Queen of Hearts, otherwise known as the Red Queen, fights against Alice. She reigns across most of Wonderland. The White Queen, however, fights _for _Alice. She gathers up an army; and we're the most trusted members of it. Her palace provides a safe-house for Alice. I'm pretty sure she's currently got the Vorpal Sword as well, which is Alice's treasured weapon."

"So, she's one of the good guys, right?"

Naruto grinned.

"Of course."

**.**

**.**

High in the branches above them, the Cheshire Cat rolled his eyes, before disappearing back into the shadows.

**.**

**.**

**M**

**A**

**S**

**Q**

**U**

**E**

**R**

**A**

**D**

**E**

**.**

**.**

_let the good times roll  
with god as my only witness_

**.**

**.**

The White Queen once lived in a White Castle.

The gates were painted white. The bricks were made entirely of marble, each and every one of them a smooth, creamy white, shining in the sunlight. The curtains, which billowed through the open windows, were made of the purest, softest silk. Two spires spiralled out of the castle, twisting high into the sky; they were both as white as the clouds which surrounded them. The grass was white; every single flower—every single plant—was as white as snow.

And, oh, the _people!_

Pale faces—sickly pale—snow white lips; fair hair, falling in curls around their faces, always reaching down to their hips. The women were dressed in white dresses, with huge skirts and tightened corsets—with ribbons and laces and frills. The men were also dressed in white, but each of them wore a white suit, complete with a white bow tie. They were all so beautiful and all so sickly kind and sweet.

However, since then, time has passed. Seasons have changed. Alice's have come and gone. Games have been started, played and then finished—some with a good outcome, others only bad. Things have gone from bad to worse.

Wonderland has changed.

The White Castle has changed.

The gates are now rusted shut, the paint peeling off them, showing a layer of silver beneath. The marble walls have been weathered away, battered and bruised. The windows are now barred shut—instead of windows, there are steel metal bars. One of the two spires is completely broken. It lies in ruins, scattered throughout the palace gardens, as a memory of the lives that were lost from one of the many attacks of the Red Queen. The second spire is almost completely covered in green ivy. The white grass is dead. The white flowers—white as snow—are dead.

But the people are still as beautiful as ever. They are dressed perfectly. They are still as happy as ever—they are still as kind as ever. They still dance in the palace grounds. They still laugh and sing together. They still welcome all those who enter the White Castle.

They are the White People.

They cannot buckle in the face of evil; they are justice and they are good. Their way is fair. Their Queen is kind. They are untainted by jealousy and spite. They have yet to be rotten away by hatred. They will be victorious in this battle of White versus Red—of good versus evil—of right versus wrong.

They share Hope.

And, because of this, the White Castle is still beautiful.

**.**

**.**

Sakura leaned forwards, placing her hands on her knees and gasping for breath. She wasn't the fittest girl, she'd admit that; from a young age, she'd decided to trade her exercising time for more studying. She supposed it wasn't the greatest idea she'd had. She was going to have to start jogging soon.

"Hey, are you okay back there?" Naruto called, from further ahead.

He and the others had easily taken the lead, striding purposefully onwards, and the conversation had fallen to nothing, as they marched along. Sasuke was in front, every now and then adjusting his hat and murmuring to himself, followed closely by Naruto. Sakura wasn't at all sure where the March Hare had disappeared to—one second, he'd been stood next to her, completely silent; the next, he had vanished. She wondered briefly where he'd gone and then decided it didn't matter.

She sped up, rushing towards them, suddenly aware of how dangerous it would be if she fell to far behind. They knew these forests—they understood Wonderland.

She didn't—still—but she assumed it would happen in time.

"Are we… are we almost there?" Sakura murmured, as soon as she'd caught up with them, slowing to a halt and gasping in another breath.

Before Naruto could answer, the Mad Hatter was stood in front of her, surveying her exhausted appearance in disdain. He reached lazily into one pocket and pulled out a familiar looking glass bottle; sure enough, he offered it out to her and, as she took it from him, she realised it was the very same bottle the March Hare had given to her, on her first journey to Wonderland. The bottle with the magic potion in it—the one which made her shrink.

The very same glass bottle that she'd hidden underneath her bed, with all her other childhood monsters and forgotten memories.

"You've… you've been in _my room!_" She cried, pointing an accusing finger at Sasuke.

He nodded.

"You've been through my stuff! Who gave you permission to do something like that?" Sakura screeched, and she longed to punch him—hit him in his smug, smirking, arrogant, pretty little face. "What if Shizune had seen you? I'm not… I'm not _allowed _boys in my room!"

Sasuke raised his eyebrows.

"…I'm a sadistic, psychotic, _mad _hatter, and you're worried about what some old woman thinks of you having guys in your room?"

"W—well…!" She scrambled for words, unsure of what to say. "…_yes!_"

He rolled his eyes, gesturing at the bottle again. "Drink it. _Now," _he murmured. "You're moving way too slowly. If you drink that, you'll shrink. You can sit in my hat, with the Dormouse, and I'll _carry _you. It'll be quicker."

Sakura scowled, but tugged the stopper out of the bottle anyway. Within seconds, she had taken a sip and she was shrinking; she could hear her bones cracking and feel a distant throb of pain, but it was numb and dull. If she shrunk a few more times, she doubted she'd feel that pain any longer. She wondered if that was a good thing.

Pain shows you're alive. Pain is _real._

No pain…

She wasn't sure if feeling no pain was a good thing _at all._

Sasuke gripped her elbow as she shrank, keeping her upright, until she was finally simply dangling in the air, the last folds of her dress slipping off her. Naruto let out a strangled squeak, fishing into his pocket and pulling out another dress; this one was as white as snow. He handed it to her carefully, pinching it between two fingers, and she took it gratefully—Sasuke placed her in the brim of his hat and she dressed herself, before wandering around until she finally found the Dormouse, curled up asleep on the opposite side of the hat, using a feather as a pillow.

He cracked open one eye as she sat down. "…Naruto's getting better at sewing…" he mumbled blearily, straightening slightly and leaning against the hat, hugging his legs against his chest. For a few seconds, he simply stared sleepily at Sakura—then he grasped her hand and tugged her towards him. "…you might want to hold onto something."

She found herself clutching Shikamaru, as the hat suddenly moved through the air—Sasuke placed it neatly back onto his head and then glanced briefly at Naruto. His lips curled into a thin smile. "…I'll race you."

Naruto blinked, his eyes widening briefly in surprise. He looked as though he was about to protest, glancing swiftly at the two tiny figures sat on the hat. Then he shrugged slightly and slipped into an easier stance, as though about to break into a sprint. He grinned.

"Oh, it is _on!"_

And then Sakura was gripping Shikamaru with a strength she didn't know she possessed, as the wind whipped at her face and made her dress billow around her. She found herself pressed against the hat and couldn't move even if she wanted to—the wind was far too strong. The scenery around her became blurred. For a few seconds, she was certain Sasuke would run into something or that she'd simply go flying off the brim of the hat and fall to her death. She turned slightly, blinking at Shikamaru, and was surprised to find him nodding off to sleep.

"Are you… are you _crazy?" _She found herself screaming above the roar of the wind, her hair blowing into her mouth as she spoke.

The Dormouse yawned.

"We're all a little bit crazy, Alice," he answered, and she found that she was able to hear his voice perfectly. "Even you. Even me. Even Naruto. Even Sasuke—_especially _Sasuke."

"We could _die!"_

"It's troublesome, but…" Shikamaru shrugged. "The Mad Hatter knows what he's doing. Just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride."

With that, the Dormouse returned to his sleep.

**.**

**.**

**real world**

00:23:28

Kiba couldn't sleep.

He'd been lying awake for over three hours, at least, simply gazing at the ceiling and remembering. It was those eyes that did it; the eyes that weren't quite Sakura's. Those eyes had been filled with hatred. They'd been hungry for blood, longing to kill.

They'd been far too much like _his_ eyes for Kiba to feel comfortable.

He'd always prided himself on knowing everything about Sakura, just as she'd known everything about him. It had been a strange friendship. He'd been the little boy everyone felt sorry for, with the father everyone was scared of—and, because of that, no one had spoken to him. No one had stood up for him and no one had done anything about the things that happened. Not even his own mother.

She'd been the little girl everyone was scared of, though no one admitted it. With her books and her baggy jumpers and her creepy eyes, no one had spoken to her. They'd thought she was arrogant. They thought she thought she was better than them. They didn't trust those blank eyes. They didn't know what she was thinking.

It had been such a cliché meeting, as well.

He'd bumped into her—_literally—_as he raced across the playground. He'd been running fast. He'd liked to do that, as a kid. It was one of the many things he was proud of, how fast he could run. He'd been running so fast, that he'd been unable to slow down, and smacked straight into the pink-haired girl and her pile of text books.

Papers had gone flying up into the sky. A little girl had gone tumbling down.

He'd apologised over and over again; she didn't seem bothered at all, that he'd run into her. Rather, she seemed more afraid of the fact he was speaking to her. He'd begun to ask her questions, like when her birthday was and what her favourite game was, and, at first, she'd replied with short, sharp answers. Eventually, he'd managed to coax more out of her.

Eventually, they became best friends.

_((in his mind, he sees two children; a boy and a girl. they are laughing. they are smiling. they are naïve. he thinks nothing can go wrong, as they walk side by side, holding hands and enjoying the feeling of the sun on their bare shoulders._

_the little girl giggles._

"_we're going to be friends forever, right kiba? we'll going to go on adventures together. we're going to stay young forever, you and me. best friends until the end of time. pinky promise?"_

_he locks his little finger with hers._

"…_pinky promise."))_

Kiba rolled over onto his side, frowning slightly, his face twisting into a scowl. He'd disappeared for too long. He'd been running for too long. His father had almost caught him—he'd been so close, as well—and they'd had to stay with a friend for a while, until everything was safe.

He'd returned to school, all arrogant and cocky, expecting everything to be just like before.

But something had changed.

Those two guys had turned up—the noisy one, with the blonde hair, and the other one; the one with the hateful eyes. For a moment, Kiba was overwhelmed with anger, as he remembered the condescending look Uchiha Sasuke had given him.

_((the little girl takes a step forward. one step, two steps—over and over again—and as she moves, she changes. she is no longer a little girl. she becomes taller, but only slightly so. her hair gets longer; her fringe disappears. she turns into a woman. a beautiful, attractive woman, and he does not recognise her._

"_hey, wait up!" he calls, and he reaches out towards her, but there is no response. she has grown up without him. he will remain a frightened little boy forever. "where are you going? wait for me, sakura. you SWORE. you PROMISED. why are you leaving me?"_

_she stops._

_he grounds to a halt._

_she glances back over her shoulder—and those beautiful green eyes are dark, filled with hatred and anger and misery. she smiles, but it is a cruel, cold smile._

"people grow up."

_those three words hit him like bullets—they scar him like no weapon ever can. they terrify him, as well. she has changed; she is no longer the little girl from before. this is a woman, and she doesn't believe in the fairytales and adventures and neverland, like the girl of the past._

_he cannot speak, and so she turns away. she stretches her hands out, reaching for two invisible people—and then he can see them as well. uchiha sasuke. uzumaki naruto. she turns and walks with them, and kiba finds that he is frozen in his place. he longs to chase after her._

_he watches as she disappears into the distance.))_

Kiba scowled, rolling onto his back and returning to gazing at the ceiling. For a second, the image of Sakura's back, getting further and further away, was stuck in his head—he remembered the way she'd held hands with Sasuke and Naruto so casually, as though they'd been friends forever, and found himself angrier that he'd ever been in his life.

He knew why.

He couldn't do anything.

He couldn't catch up with that lonely figure, because she'd _changed_ and he hadn't been ready for that. He couldn't catch up with his best friend, because her eyes were different. They were cruel and they were wrong. He couldn't catch up with the girl he loved, because he was _scared. _It was the fact that he couldn't do anything, which angered him most. It wasn't Sasuke's smirk or arrogant drawl—it wasn't Naruto's obnoxious nature—it wasn't those dark, chilling eyes.

It was the fact that he'd turned back into the scared little boy he'd been before—the little boy who'd been scared of the monster under the bed, only to find out that the monster was his father and he wasn't under the bed. It was the fact that he was so weak, that _Sakura _felt the need to protect _him. _It was the fact that he was helpless again. He was out of control.

He didn't like it.

He rolled off the bed, grunting slightly as he stood up, and glanced swiftly around for his phone. It was lying on top of a heap of dirty clothes. He scooped it up, skimmed through his contacts and pressed CALL next to Ino, Yamanaka.

He listened as it rang.

Eventually—

"…_it's practically one 'o' clock in the morning, Kiba. What the hell do you want?"_

Kiba grinned, balancing the phone on his shoulder and tilting his head slightly, freeing up his hands so that he could search through his junk for his laptop. "Get your pretty little self over here, as soon as possible, Ino."

"…_you've got to be kidding me." _He heard her yawn pointedly. _"Don't you know how dangerous it is for me to be outside without a hunky male? I could get raped, y'know."_

"Oh, spare me the melodramatics."

"_What's so important that it can't wait for tomorrow, anyway?"_

"A-ha," Kiba murmured, flinging a few books and an odd sock off his desk, brushing aside a few crumbs and placing his laptop in the empty space. He flipped it open and pressed the button, waiting as the screen loaded.

"_What? Stop being cryptic and tell me already," _Ino replied, but he could hear her rummaging around her room, making soft noises every now and then as she sorted through her stuff. He heard the rustle of clothes, the creak of a floorboard, and then the jangle of keys, followed swiftly by a door opening and shutting. _"Jeez, my dad's going to kill me when he finds out I've left to go and see a guy."_

"_If_ he finds out."

"_Which he will. My dad's a police officer. It's his job to stalk his teenage daughter," _he could practically hear her scowling. _"Anyway, stop stalling and tell me what's up."_

The laptop's screen flashed once, and Kiba typed in a password, his fingers flying over the keys, as quickly as possible. He frowned, tapping his foot as the laptop whirred once again, loading way too slowly for his liking.

"…_Kiba? Are you still there?"_

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm here."

"…_you don't plan on telling me anything, then. Oh, that's fine. Be that way then. All cryptic and mysterious. Trust me, it doesn't work as well for you as it does for—"_

"—Sasuke."

He waited patiently for a moment, waiting for Ino to respond and waiting for his laptop to finally work properly. It was too slow—ridiculously slow—in fact, he should have just stolen Hana's. It would have been easier, and she always had the latest laptop. Apparently, being a classy vet paid well. Having a rich boyfriend paid even better.

"…_what about him?"_

Kiba hesitated, ready to spill everything—he wanted to, that was for sure. He wanted to tell Ino all about his anxieties and the fact that he thought Sakura was in danger just being around the Uchiha. But he couldn't. Not over the phone, where the words seemed meaningless, like feeble paranoia.

He simply shrugged.

"Have a safe journey, Ino."

"_Don't you hang up on m—"_

**.**

**.**

"You can wake up now, Shikamaru," Sakura mumbled, tugging at her friend's tail in an effort to wake him—he murmured something incomprehensible, stretched, and then pulled his tail out of her grasp, grumbling. "We've stopped moving."

"…don't touch that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't touch what?" She paused, considering the question, and then pointed at his tail. "Why not?"

Shikamaru opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a louder voice.

"He's sensitive about his tail, Sakura-chan!"

The Dormouse scowled, clutching his tail almost protectively against himself and glowered darkly at Naruto, who was beaming at his smaller friends over the brim of the hat. "I'm not… _sensitive _about it, I just don't like people touching it."

"See?" Naruto announced, grinning widely. "I told you he was sensitive."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why? I think it's cute."

"It's troublesome," Shikamaru replied blankly.

Sakura was about to respond, when she was plucked easily from the brim of the hat and held in the air. She found herself gazing into the sea-green eyes of the March Hare, who merely gazed at her in response. There was an almost awkward silence, in which Sakura dangled in the air, kicking slightly in an attempt to show her discomfort.

Finally, Gaara spoke.

"We're _here," _he stated, and placed her gently on the palm of his other hand, holding her up so that she could see her surroundings.

And she was in such a beautiful place. She was gazing at a palace—all spiralling towers and ivy and pretty flowers—which looked as though it had fallen directly out of a children's fairytale. She could almost imagine Rapunzel leaning out of a tower, her braided hair tumbling to the ground beneath her as a ladder for a passing prince. She could practically see Snow White lying in her glass coffin, hidden somewhere behind the stone walls. She could nearly hear the music, as the Beast danced with his Beauty in the grand ballroom.

And the palace itself looked as though it had been covered in a blanket of snow. Every single thing she could see, as she peered out of the forest, was nearly white—from the rusted gate to the flowers on the palace grounds. Yet, she could spot a few different colours. A smudge of brown, a splatter of silver, and a bundle of ivy, which climbed up practically every single wall or surface, like a stain.

Still…

"This is… this place is… this is _beautiful." _

Gaara raised an eyebrow—or, at least, that's what she assumed he was doing, as he didn't actually _have _any eyebrows. "…that is the White Castle. It is where the White Queen lives. She would like to speak to Alice. Do you accept?"

"R—right away?"

"Of course. It is not polite to keep a Queen waiting," Gaara's voice took on a mocking tone. "If you do not see the Hatter and the Rabbit again tonight, in Wonderland, I am sure you will see them tomorrow, at _school._"

Sasuke didn't respond.

Sakura glanced from the March Hare to the Mad Hatter, before shaking her head and deciding she'd better not ask. Whatever grudge the two had, it didn't matter to her. It was much better that she spoke to the Queen and found herself another ally in Wonderland.

She glanced up at Gaara, only to find him staring intently at her. He was a beautiful person, she realised, just like everyone in Wonderland. There was something strange about him, however—his skin seemed too smooth to be real.

It was almost as though he were wearing a mask.

"Come now, Alice," Gaara said, finally, and Sakura felt a wave of panic overwhelm her, as his fingers curled around her body, effectively cutting off any movements. "I am going to run. I advise that you remain as calm as possible."

And then she was moving too fast, and she couldn't speak. She simply watched as Sasuke and Naruto became smaller and smaller, surrounded by branches and bushes, until finally she could see them no longer, and they disappeared altogether. For some reason, she found herself scared without them. They were her protection, in such an unfamiliar world. And, despite the fact that the boy she was with now—the March Hare—was also an ally, she was terrified.

She felt alone.

She pushed the negative feeling away, concentrating on her surroundings and watching, alarmed, as the White Castle loomed closer and closer, becoming much bigger. Had it always been so huge? It was as though it were growing before her very eyes.

Gaara slowed to a halt, in front of the gates. He seemed wary—he was beginning to grip her tightly, holding her closer to his chest. His shoulders were tense. He glanced briefly around him, obviously suspicious.

"…there are no guards."

Sakura blinked, looking around as well. "…so?"

Gaara peered at her and she could vaguely see disbelief in his eyes. "…Wonderland is at _war_, Alice. It is the Red Queen, more commonly known as the Queen of Hearts, versus the White Queen. It is a valid assumption that there would be a need for guards. This brings me to the current situation—there are _no_ guards, _whatsoever."_

"Maybe they all went on a break?"

Gaara rolled his eyes. "At the same time?"

Sakura ignored him, choosing to lean forwards and take another look around. It was true; there definitely were no guards. She glanced back up at the redhead, but his face was unreadable. "So, what're we going to do, then?"

"We shall enter."

"But there are no guards!"

"Which means no one can stop us from entering," Gaara finished, before breaking into a sprint and leaping off the ground.

There was a brief moment in which they simply hurtled through the air, and Sakura swore they weren't going to make it over. She screamed despite herself, clutching Gaara's fingers for dear life—the redhead merely grunted, grasping easily onto the top of the gate with his spare hand and easily flipping himself over.

He landed in a neat crouch.

Sakura found herself speechless—Gaara merely snorted and continued on his way, walking swiftly towards the Castle doors. There was no one outside, lounging on the grass, either. In fact, as far as Sakura could see, there were no signs of life at all. Now that she thought about it, the Castle seemed more like a ruin anyway, and the March Hare _was_ insane. It was highly likely that he'd just imagined the entire encounter. Or it could be a trap, set up by the Queen of Hearts. Gaara might have betrayed her—he could just be leading her to her death.

Somehow, she knew that neither theory was right. She remained silent, simply waiting as the Hare knocked once upon the palace door.

It creaked open. A servant—with the face of a frog and the body of a man—dressed entirely in white, peered back at them. "Ah, Mr Hare. Miss Alice. Her Majesty was expecting you. Right this way, if you please."

Gaara's lips quirked into a small smile. "…you thought I was insane, didn't you?"

Sakura smiled. "Someone told me everyone's a little crazy, here in Wonderland."

Ahead of them, the footman coughed softly. "If you would please, Mr Hare, the Queen is waiting," he called clearly, and Gaara nodded respectfully, catching up with the taller frog-man easily. They walked in complete silence, the March Hare easily keeping pace with the footman, until they came to a tall door.

It stood out completely against the rest of the room. The door itself was painted a deep black, with a single crown, painted in white, positioned in the middle of it. The footman knocked once and waited.

"Come in."

The footman pushed open the door, bowing respectfully. The room within was perfect. The white chairs were elegant and made from the finest craftsmanship; positioned on top, were plump silk pillows, all as white as snow. To the left, beside the window, was a four-poster bed, complete with flowing drapes, which were pulled shut around the bed. To the left, was a pair of glass doors, leading out to a balcony, from which a good part of Wonderland could be seen. Directly in front of Sakura, leading up from a white satin carpet, was a looking glass. Stood in front of the looking glass, was the White Queen.

She was perfect.

Everything about her was beautiful. She wore a fancy dress, with a tight, modest bodice, and a wide skirt, which fell over numerous petticoats. Her sleeves hung low over her hands. She wore a ribbon tied tightly around her waist, the bow at the back. Her skin was as white as snow—she had a rounded, heart-shaped face, with soft, elegant features. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain; it was a dark midnight-blue, and the only splash of colour in the entire room—her lips were the same colour as her hair, smiling daintily.

Her eyes were closed, and Sakura could see that her long lashes were as dark as her hair. Gaara dropped to one knee, bowing his head respectfully.

"My Queen."

"You may rise, noble Hare," the White Queen murmured, and her voice was tender and loving, as well as being suitably feminine. "You have done well."

Everything about her was perfect, Sakura decided. The Queen looked to be about her age—if slightly younger—and, yet, Sakura knew she could do no wrong whatsoever. She was so trustworthy. Kindly.

Oh so beautiful.

"Your Majesty, I have delivered Alice to you," Gaara murmured, rising to his feet—he held his hand out, his fingers unfurling to show Sakura, in all her pink-haired glory.

The Queen blinked.

"Oh dear… She is a little _smaller_ than I expected."

"That can be easily corrected," he replied, and tugged the smallest slice of cake out of his pocket, barely bigger than a crumb. He handed it to Sakura, who took it easily. "You must always remember to return to your usual size, Alice. We cannot be sure of what might happen if you do not."

The White Queen turned away, walking briskly across the room as Sakura began to grow—she rummaged through a wardrobe, tugged out a short white dress, and then returned, handing it to the other girl. Sakura accepted it greatly, tugging it on; it was actually quite a nice dress. Still, she was beginning to miss all of her jumpers.

The Queen smiled, "I have many things to tell you, Alice, and very little time. Firstly, I must tell you that this castle will always be your safehold—you may stay here at any moment you feel fit. You are always welcome here."

Sakura opened her mouth to respond, but she was stopped, as the White Queen held up her hand.

"I apologise, Alice, but there is no time for words; already, I can see you beginning to fade away. You must listen closely—secondly, I have here a looking glass for you," the Queen announced, striding over to her bedside table and picking up a small wrapped package. "It is a magic mirror, to put it simply. I have one much like it. Should you ever need my services, simply gaze into the looking glass and think of me."

She handed it to Sakura, who turned it over, admiring the fine detail. The mirror was black; midnight black, unlike the room around it. Much like the door Sakura had come through, it was as black as ink, with a white painting of a figure in the middle—a girl in a dress, with striped stockings and a black bow in her hair. She assumed that girl was Alice.

"Ah, you're vanishing already…"

Sure enough, Sakura was beginning to fade away, her feet first, much like the Cheshire Cat. She wondered if she would vanish until only her smile remained.

"One last thing, Alice—could you please tell my darling Rabbit to come and visit me again? Oh, I do miss him so," the White Queen sighed, clasping her hands in front of her body and gazing at the other girl beseechingly.

Sakura smiled.

"I promise."

And, with that, she woke up.

**.**

**.**

yesterday upon the stair  
i saw a man  
who wasn't there  
he wasn't there again today  
oh, how i wish

he'd go away

**.**

**.**

—_Wonderland is a world where everything is what it is not and nothing is what it is. _


	5. quatre: can't stop the forwards motion

**project: **masquerade  
**disclaimer: **i do not own naruto, or the characters in it, or wonderland.  
**summary: **she will follow the white rabbit. she will fall in love with the mad hatter. she will kill the queen of hearts. but fairytales don't always have a happily ever after and she doesn't believe in once upon a times.  
**pairings: **sasusaku  
**notes: **i love gaara. maybe he'll let me have his children, the moment he becomes real and 3d.  
**chapter: **quatre: can't stop the forwards motion (we're moving way too fast)

**

* * *

**"We see a deadly sin on every street corner, in every home, and we tolerate it. We tolerate it because it's common, it's trivial. We tolerate it morning, noon, and night. Well, not anymore.

_I'm_ setting the example."  
**- **_Se7en_

**.**

**.**

**YOU ARE NOW ENTERING: **WONDERLAND

**.**

**.**

The White Queen pressed her gloved fingers against her lips, watching and waiting as Alice steadily, and slowly, vanished. She was… different, that was true. Bright pink hair and startling eyes; oh, they were certainly _frightening_. Already, they made her shiver; it was as though they could see right into the depths of her soul—and perhaps they realised that she was not as pure as she looked.

Eventually, Alice vanished—and, with her, the White Queen's smile.

The March Hare remained where he was, frozen, almost statue-like, as the Queen swept across the floor towards the window; she peered out, her snow white eyes scanning the darkness of the forest which surrounded her castle. There she stood, surveying her surroundings, searching for a glimpse of movement; once she was sure there was nothing, she stepped away, and only then did she let her mask slide from her face.

Her eyes turned blank as she gazed at the Hare.

"Your majesty," he murmured again, instantly dropping to one knee; she loathed him, she really did, but she would never say it. If they knew…

If _any_ of them knew…

She forced herself to smile again, sweeping over to him and cupping his chin with one hand; she saw fury flicker across his face, briefly, as it always did, and then he calmed himself. Often she found herself wondering why he so loathed the touch of anyone; and often she had to remind herself that it was none of her business. She wasn't there to learn about them—about _any_ of them. She was there as their sanctuary. Their safety.

Their leader.

She would have scoffed, had she not been in the presence of one of her followers. Instead, she spoke, playing the part of the kindly ruler, as she had been doing for far too long. "Brave Hare," she said, tipping his chin and gently forcing him to face her. "You have been working hard. You deserve rest. It is time for you to leave."

He nodded sharply, as she let go of his chin; then, elegantly, she gestured for him to leave. He did so, bowing again, before turning jerkily and slipping swiftly out of the room. If there was one thing she did admire, it was their blind faith. He trusted her. They _all_ trusted her. And rightly so, no doubt.

She _was_, after all, their Queen.

And she had played the part well, despite the fact that she had not wanted to. Her cousin—her darling, wonderful, _stupid_ cousin—had informed her, sorrow-stricken, one day, of the Game. Within a few nights, she had found herself part of it; sucked into it, because of his words. She blamed him.

She hated him.

Upon entering Wonderland, she had been informed of her position by a beautiful rabbit. He had not laughed at her sickly skin, or her greasy hair, or her ghostly eyes; in fact, after expressing her horror at becoming a Queen, he had beamed at her.

"_You're the most beautiful person I know, your Majesty."_

The words had woken a part of her, deep within her heart; and her emotions had whirred, finally _needed._ Her stomach had fluttered, and her cheeks had turned red, and she had suddenly become bashful. Confused and upset and oh so _happy_, she had grasped the front of his shirt; and, spurred on by her silly beating heart, she had pushed her lips against his, and held him against her for a while. He had responded first with equal confusion, and then simply gone with the flow.

It had not really been a romance.

It had _never_ been a romance.

Her kiss had been numbing and bewildering, but she had never acted upon her feelings again; because the feeling had been uncomfortably _good._ She had never touched him again, despite the fact that he had neared her with the intention of touching; she knew she had awoken feelings inside of him that should not have been woken, but she stayed away, calling for him from afar. It contradicted everything she knew.

Eventually, her feelings for him became just another part of her act. They did not entirely vanish—not quite—indeed, they still lingered _somewhere_ inside of her, but she couldn't quite access them. Instead, she pretended; just as she pretended to be a loving and caring Queen, watching over her people with a twinkle in her eye and a small smile.

It was what they wanted.

She realised she was stood staring at the door, so she forced herself to turn, to move, to do _anything_. Her act was slipping. Some of them might not notice it, but the March Hare certainly would; as would the Dormouse. A few of her footmen might. Alice wouldn't. Alice would never, ever, notice anything about her.

The White Queen crossed the room and sat on her bed, placing her head in her hands and waiting; her hair fell about her, like a curtain, shutting her off from the outside world and, for once, she was glad of it. He would appear just before she vanished; only a few minutes before, and he would only stay for a few minutes.

Six minutes, to be precise.

It was _always_ six minutes.

He arrived at the same time, as usual; his face appeared in the mirror, foggy and distorted, rippling in the glass. A single gloved hand pierced the surface of the mirror, stepping _through_, followed by a foot, and a leg, and an arm, and a shoulder—until he stood fully in the midst of her white room, a splodge of colour—of red and black—like a stain. He shook his head, as though shaking water off himself, before bowing, blatantly mocking her.

"Your _Majesty."_

The Queen of Hearts smirked.

And the White Queen's heart _shattered._

**.**

**.**

_(and, elsewhere, a window shattered)_

**.**

**.**

The March Hare did not leave the moment the White Queen told him to, as she had thought he would. Instead, he walked briskly down the long hallway, waving away a footman with the head of a heron; he wasn't sure where he was going, not at first, but a voice within him urged him onwards, whispering in his ear to walk faster. His strides became longer, until he was eventually he was running—racing down a hallway, searching for a door he knew he would never find, with people behind it he knew he would never see again.

He stopped.

It was a messy stop, something he was certain he would have done better under any other circumstances; but, for some reason the Queen's touch had messed with his head. The voice was louder. Its whisperings were stronger.

It was… _persuasive._

It hadn't wanted him to stop, he knew that; it had wanted him to continue, to sprint out of the window and fall down, down, _down. _And it knew he knew, because it began to laugh. He grasped his head with both hands, because the noise _hurt_, and he slid to his knees.

"Stop… _it_…"

The laughter stopped.

For a few seconds, there was silence, and the silence was pure bliss. He would have stood up, but he knew the whisperings would begin again, and he would no doubt find himself running; so he sat down and wrapped his hands around his legs—a position he had not been in since he was six, and his own uncle had attempted to kill him. He let out a bitter laugh, which sounded more like a croak, and then instantly fell silent.

He didn't like noise.

It hurt.

He pressed his fingers against his face, tugging downwards, gently, and the mask he usually wore slipped away; his face became a picture of anguish, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to break down. Then, finally, he spoke.

"What have you done with them?"

He heard no reply—but the reply wasn't supposed to come from outside of him; it was supposed to come from _inside_ his head. He waited, patiently, until finally, the whisperings began again. The voice giggled shrilly, before hissing, _"I gobbled them all up—yum, yum, YUM."_

The laughter began again.

The March Hare scowled, his face twisting with fury. "Shut _up!_ Tell me what you've done with them."

"_What _I've_ done with them?" _The voice mocked, suddenly sounding hurt. _"How can _I _have done _anything_? After all, I'm not even _real._ You should be asking, Gaara-chan, what have _you_ done with them?"_

It laughed again.

He staggered to his feet, slowly, swaying as he did so; he had to use the wall for support. Because it was true—all of it was true—the voice had done nothing, hadn't it? It had just _whispered. _It was his fault.

He had _listened._

And now.

Now he couldn't remember.

So he began to run; and as he ran, he rearranged his features, back into his usual unreadable expression. And he ran and he ran and he ran. His hands flew up over his face, and he leapt forwards—

—and the March Hare ran straight through a window, letting out a bitter, enraged laugh as he did so.

He woke up before he hit the ground.

**.**

**.**

_(and, elsewhere, a heart shattered)_

**.**

**.**

**YOU ARE NOW LEAVING:** WONDERLAND

**.**

**.**

**real world.**

03:49:11

Ino pressed her fingers against her lips, daintily, scowling at Kiba's back, and let out a loud, pointed yawn. When he didn't respond, she stretched, curving and arching and exaggerating every single little movement; when he _still_ didn't respond, she smacked him across the head.

He turned, glowering darkly at her and rubbing his new bruise. "…what the _hell_ was that for?"

She rolled her eyes, placing her hands on her hips and adopting a pose which just screamed authority. "Oh, stop being such a little _baby,_" she drawled, flapping her perfect hands at him, displaying her new Blood Red nail varnish. "I just thought I'd tell you, it's way past three 'o' clock, and we've found _nothing. _Uchiha Sasuke is no one, apparently, so can we just give it up? He's not a drug addict, not a rapist, not a murderer—he's completely and utterly _average._ He's not a psycho. So, Kiba-_chan_, why don't you walk me home, so I can catch up on my beauty sleep, _hm?_"

Kiba peered at her, incredulously, before snorting. "You've seen the guy, right, Ino? There's no way he's that perfect."

"I _have _seen the guy, and yes, he's _definitely _that perfect—I mean, he's pretty perfect to look at, if you catch my drift," she replied, inspecting her nails idly and deciding that, yes, Blood Red _would _look good with Candy Apple green—then she paused and glanced at Kiba, wrinkling her nose delicately. "Well, he's certainly more perfect than _you_, anyway. No wonder Sakura likes hanging around with him."

Her words hit Kiba like bullets, but he kept his face steady and calm. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Ino flapped her arms pointedly, gesturing around at his bedroom—and he found himself looking, despite the fact that he knew what he'd see. _Nothing._ Apart from his bed and a few old wooden drawers, he had practically nothing in his bedroom; everything was packed away in boxes downstairs, ready for the next time he'd have to flee with his family—ready for the next time his father came a-knocking. He attempted to keep his calm demeanour, but he found that Ino was breaking boundaries he'd never even knew he had—she was tearing down gates and walls and fences he'd spent so long putting up, as though it meant nothing to her.

And she was doing it by accident, too.

"Well, you're hardly perfect, are you? And you've seen Uchiha Sasuke, and the way he acts; calm and silent and _mysterious_," she gasped the last word, clasping her hands together and fluttering her eyelashes; and then Kiba let himself properly relax, rolling his eyes at her shallowness. "You've got that messy bad boy looking going on, sure, but Sasuke is just _dreamy._"

"He's dangerous."

"Which means he's rocking the bad boy thing a bit better than _you_, Kiba dearest," Ino snapped back, wrinkling her nose again. "And you've found nothing to say he isn't anything but perfect, so, once again, can we just _give it up?"_

Kiba frowned.

He considered it, he really did, just for a few seconds; he thought of how easy it would be to agree, to let Ino's simpering smile (and her, ahem, _assets_) convince him—how easy it would be to push the computer chair backwards, to gesture for Ino to leave, to walk her home, to help her sneak into her bedroom window, to laugh and talk with her, to move in closer and capture her lips with his own. He thought of how easy it would be just to give. It. _Up._

And then he inwardly slapped himself, because giving up would mean abandoning Sakura—abandoning her to face those demons on her own, and that was something he certainly couldn't do, no matter how hot the person trying to convince him was.

So he offered Ino a sheepish smile and shrugged.

"No."

She groaned, stamping her foot (gently, because she didn't want anyone else to wake up and wonder what she was doing there) and gazing at him with contempt. "But what can you _do, _Kiba? We've found nothing, and you've tried everything! We're running around in circles and grasping at straws—you've got _nothing_ on Uchiha Sasuke!"

Kiba shrugged again, turning back towards his laptop and double-clicking on his email. "I've got nothing _yet_, Ino. Have patience, o doubtful one, and all shall be revealed."

She let out another exaggerated groan, before flopping down onto Kiba's bed; and, under any other circumstances, he would have been overjoyed to have _Yamanaka Ino_ sprawled across his bed, but at that present moment in time, he was busy. The candy girl would have to wait, with her stripy tights and short skirts and pretty dresses.

He was busy.

His fingers tapping across the keyboard, more hurried and frenzied than he'd ever been before, he let his mind drift off to Sakura. No doubt she was still in Wonderland. She was probably drinking tea with that bastard, or laughing with the other bastard—more likely still, she was probably fleeing for her life with both of them, hand in hand. Happy, in a psychotic kind of way. Her eyes glowing, different, changed.

He shook his head, his hair brushing briefly in front of his eyes; he reached up, to tuck it out of the way, and thought idly that he'd have to get it cut. The normality of such a thought frightened him—_that_ was what he should be doing; messing around, drinking, hanging out with friends, banging the hot cheerleader—_that_ was what other guys his age would be doing.

_(not uchiha sasuke though)_

He should have been in bed, for Christ's sake.

_(never uchiha sasuke)_

He should have listened to Ino, and just given up. His resolve wasn't strong enough. He was doubting, because it was easier to doubt.

_(uchiha sasuke is _perfect_)_

He shook his head again, and his features hardened; Ino must have noticed the sudden movement, because she sat up and gazed quizzically at him. He rolled his shoulders, offered her a brief smile, and pressed send.

"There's no way anyone's that perfect, Ino, and I plan on finding out exactly who Uchiha Sasuke is. Because if he's dangerous—and if he _hurts_ her—I will rip his balls off and personally feed them to the nearest hobo, understand? He can be as good-looking as he wants. He can win Sakura's heart with a dash of angst and a smirk, but I can see beneath his mask, and he's a slimy, disgusting _worm. _He's danger."

His knuckles turned white, as he balled his hands into fists.

"And I'm going to protect Sakura from him."

**.**

**.**

_(a wide brimmed hat floats over the sleeping figure; then, as she turns and shifts and begins to wake up, it disappears like smoke.)_

**.**

**.**

**elsewhere.**

05:06:51

Sakura woke up.

She stretched, lifting her arms high over her head and attempting to stop herself from yawning; she was tired. She'd woken up far too early, and she had no idea why; usually, she could lie in until past ten, but, occasionally, like today, she would wake up early. Generally, she cursed those days. Waking up early usually equalled a bad day.

She shrugged one shoulder, leaning over to check the time—she sighed, tugging both of her legs over the bed and sitting up. There was absolutely no way she'd be able to get back to sleep, and so she stood up, rolling her shoulders and flexing her muscles, attempting to get rid of any stiffness. Her legs felt sore. Her stomach was tingling; she felt glittery, shiny; it was a bizarre feeling.

Wonderland often left her feeling like that.

She strolled over to the door, on her way to the bathroom, as usual—upon opening the door, she walked straight into Uchiha Sasuke. His hand flew upwards, stifling her scream before it even left her lips; her other hand grasped her wrist, grasping it uncomfortably tightly, before she even had the chance to move away. He tugged her forwards, pressing himself against her; the tingling in her stomach intensified and she felt heat rising to her cheeks, spreading across the tips of her ears and the back of her neck.

They stayed like that for a few seconds. To anyone else, it would have merely looked as though he had pulled her into a tight, meaningful embrace; and that would have been true, to a certain extent; the embrace certainly was tight.

And meaningful.

Slowly, steadily, Sasuke removed his hand from her lips, and Sakura let out a soft, indignant gasp; then she narrowed her eyes, glowering pointedly at him. Before she could even begin to speak, however, Sasuke had pulled away, and was busy pacing the room, shutting and locking the windows. She remained silent, choosing instead to cross her arms and tap her foot; he'd no doubt tell her what his unexpected visit was all about, in time. No doubt he was being paranoid; even so, despite her reassurances, she could not help but tense every single time he passed her—he _scared _her.

Eventually, after doing a few laps of the room, Sasuke stopped in front of her, mirroring her exact pose, except he _didn't_ tap his foot. They stood in silence, simply staring at each other, until finally Sakura broke the silence.

"What do you _want, _Sasuke?"

He didn't respond. Instead, he reached past her and carefully shut the door; it slipped close, making no noise whatsoever, and Sakura shivered again. His arm was touching her, brushing her shoulder, and the closeness; the intimacy; was making her dizzy. She could smell him. He was _all_ she could smell. She had to sit down. She had to close her eyes and sit down, because, if she didn't, she was going to fall under his spell forever.

Instinctively, her eyes flicked up to his.

Instantly, she was caught.

She would have stood there for hours, simply staring at him, her breathing coming in short, gasping breaths, had something else not caught her attention. She pushed away from him, her brow furrowing, as she walked steadily over to her bedside table; and, as she moved, her blood ran cold. She leaned over.

There, on her bedside table, was a playing card.

The Knave of Hearts.

She reached out to touch it, her hand hesitant, despite the fact that she knew it would vanish—and, sure enough, within seconds, it had turned into smoke. Her fingers passed right through it. She couldn't speak, but it didn't matter—Sasuke would have interrupted her, had she even attempted to. "He's close, Sakura," he murmured, because all of a sudden, he was stood right behind her, close enough for her to feel his breath on the back of her neck. "He's close and he's dangerous; Naruto's leading him away."

"How?" Her voice was hoarse.

Sasuke arched an eyebrow, before replying. "You _saw_ the warning, Sakura. He can see them as well, _remember?_"

And she did. Bill the Lizard's tortured face flashed across her mind, and she felt a sense of unbelievable calm fall over herself. She felt as though someone else had taken over her body, then, and, almost in a trance, she stepped over to her bed and sat down, picked up a book and began to skim through it, aimlessly searching for something to do. Dimly, she saw the Mad Hatter lean against the bedroom wall, obviously waiting for something—some_one. _Probably Naruto. That would make sense.

Absently, as she skimmed through her book, she became distantly aware of what felt like a continuous scream, coming from within her. She closed the book, cocked her head, and listened; part of her was shrieking shrilly, a noise that only she could hear, and she had no idea why.

_(but she did, she knew, and she had to _look_)_

She glanced sideways, at the bedside table.

Her hands flew to her face and her eyes widened—and, opposite her, _he_ stepped forwards, obviously alarmed—and she thought she was going to scream.

Because there, on the bedside table, was a group of cards.

The three of Hearts.

The six.

The eight.

And the ten.

Sakura gazed through her fingers at Sasuke's face, searching for some kind of reaction; but there was nothing. He was unreadable, as always. But she could sense his tension, like static electricity; he was wired and ready; all pumped up with macho pride. He didn't plan on running from the fight and Sakura didn't plan on dying. She tore her fingers from her face, moving with a newfound purpose, and reached into the bottom drawer—there, nestled between an old faded bra, a pair of odd socks and a pink fluffy diary, was her golden pistol.

She picked it up, shifted it from hand to hand restlessly, and then let herself become calm. She wasn't a damsel in distress—this wasn't going to be like Bill the Lizard. She was going to kick ass, because she was _Alice_ and Alice was _her._

She was ready.

**.**

**.**

_(and, elsewhere, the march hare sprang)_

**.**

**.**

**uptown.**

10:05:31

The whisperings grew louder.

_("what have you done to temari, what have you done to kankuro: is that all you ever ask? you have bigger fish to fry and with me, you're going to make it to the top, kiddo. now dry your eyes you fucking baby")_

Gaara ignored them, choosing instead to focus on his reflection in the mirror of the public toilets; waiting outside, sat at a table for four, were his father and two ex-military men. He washed his hands vigorously, casting a quick glance over his black tie and shirt; the shirt was new, bought especially for the occasion, and already he was regretting it. It was too white. It was too loud. It hurt his eyes _and_ his ears. He looked away, drying his hands absentmindedly, before shifting his suit jacket and stepping out into the restaurant.

It was one of those posh restaurants—the kind were the food is average, but the prices are sky high—filled with that sort of people—the type who dress expensively, drive expensive cars and eat at expensive restaurants. They eyed him as he walked past; he could feel each one of them staring at him. He could hear each one of them whispering. He didn't know a single one of them, and yet, he felt as though each of them recognised him.

He tried to ignore them.

The whisperings grew louder.

_("look at them look at all of them what do they know, with their riches? and what do you know, with your rags? pathetic, all of you")_

He neared his table, pulled out the chair, and sat down—the bodyguards stood on either side of his father, each with one hand beneath their jackets; his father was wary, and rightfully so. The last time Gaara had met him, he'd tried to kill him.

This time, he wasn't going to fail.

"…how are your brother and sister?" His father asked, even though he didn't care. Of course, he would never say such a thing, but it was common sense—Gaara knew it was true. He shifted slightly, but otherwise didn't reply. His father sniffed.

The two bodyguards exchanged a pointed glance.

His father let out an exaggerated sigh, before linking his hands together and leaning forwards. He was wearing the deodorant his mother used to like, before she passed away; he didn't let it distract him. Instead, Gaara mimicked his father, leaning forwards until they were practically touching noses. The bodyguards tensed.

"I'm going to kill you."

His father scoffed, flapping a hand. "You've tried before, _boy. _You were lucky last time—"

"—I was _un_lucky—"

"—and you'll never get the chance again. I won't allow it," his father's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Face it, _kid._ You've lost. Now it's just a matter of whether you plan on coming quietly to the Institute."

Inwardly, Gaara tensed. The mere mention of the Institute was enough to bring up nightmares. Oh, there had been nothing completely _bad_ about the place; rather, it was exactly what he'd thought it would be, at the age of four, when he'd first been diagnosed as a schizophrenic; by the age of six, he had become a sociopathic schizophrenic; by the age of ten, he was well on his way into being a complete and utter psychopath. He didn't blame his father for placing him in an Institute; it was no doubt the right thing to do.

But he was his _father._

He was his _son._

His mother had died not long after Gaara was born; that was what had led to years of bitterness and hatred; years of rivalry and complete loathing for each other. His entire family had hated him. His psychiatrists had said he was a victim of emotional abuse. Although it made everyone feel better to believe such a thing, Gaara disagreed.

He deserved it.

He'd _killed_ his own mother.

He didn't doubt that. His mother had hated him. Giving birth had made her weak and feeble; she had held her child once, looked into Gaara's eyes, and died. She'd seen something there, probably. She'd seen the demon he would become.

The whisperings grew louder.

_("oh the institute hey, you remember there right? good times, good times. oh we did have fun there didn't we. you screamed and screamed and SCREAMED. and i whispered. i always whisper")_

"I'm not going back to the Institute."

His father raised an eyebrow, leaning backwards and stretching, checking the time on his Rolex pointedly. "Oh, _aren't _you?"

Gaara didn't respond.

"If that's how you want it to be," his father smiled. "I'll drag you there myself."

Gaara wasn't listening. Around him, the chattering seemed to be growing louder; perhaps it was the thought of the Institute doing that to him. The place hadn't been a bad place, not at all; it had been designed to help, and so it had probably helped. But it had been so _quiet. _The voice hadn't been a whisper there.

It had been a scream.

He wasn't going back.

Idly, he inspected his glass. Empty. The waitress hadn't walked around yet, asking what drinks they wanted, and he didn't plan on staying for that long anyway. It was upside down. He calculated briefly how long it would take him to pick it up and smash it against the table; then he calculated how long it would take for the bodyguards to act. His adding wasn't as brilliant as the Dormouse's, oh no, but it was good enough to tell him that the odds on him succeeding were definitely bad.

He wondered, briefly, what to do.

If he didn't act, he'd probably miss his chance.

The whisperings grew louder.

_("slit his fucking face, gaara, go on, i know you want to, of course i do, i'm in your head aren't i? now go on, smash that glass jump across the table get him get him YOU FUCKING GET HIM. he deserves it right, that filthy RAT")_

He smiled a small smile—and his father's eyes widened in alarm—before one hand closed around the empty glass. After a few seconds, half of it was smashed against the floor, and the other half was clutched in his hand, jagged and sharp and perfect for slitting a rat's throat. His father's chair clattered backwards and the bodyguard's guns flew out.

Gaara sprang.

**.**

**.**

_(and, elsewhere, alice was ready)_

**.**

**.**

"Wonderland does funny things to people."

**.**

**.**

**M**

**A**

**S**

**Q**

**U**

**E**

**R**

**A**

**D**

**E**

**.**

**.**

_nowadays, it's nothing big  
it's hot to be a sinner_

**.**

**.**

**rewind.**

05:17:46

The Knave of Hearts was on his way to meet someone, when he spotted the hat. He wouldn't have noticed it, had he not been attempting to cross a fairly busy road; his eyes had been trained on the cars, watching carefully, waiting for any chance to cross. The church wasn't far. If he walked quickly, he might catch the morning seminar—he would sit at the back, and he would watch as they all talked of hearing God speak to them, of how He changed their lives.

He would sit and he would chuckle softly.

And as he thought of such things, he noticed it, floating towards the curb on the opposite path—his eyes had widened behind his glasses, before narrowing. Then, without a seconds hesitation, he stepped into the traffic.

Cars screeched to a halt, but he paid no attention—even as the drivers leaned out of their windows, swearing and screeching, panic-stricken and angry because, oh Lord, they almost _killed_ a man—he continued on his way. The hat drifted, not quite touching the ground; of course, there was every chance it was just a normal hat; there was every chance that his mind was playing tricks on him. But he felt that would be a naïve, stupid view.

Better to be safe about it, at least.

He stepped onto the curb, and the traffic resumed. The pedestrians around him raised their eyebrows, sharing certain looks, and then shook their heads, continuing on their way. The Knave ignored them, crouching down and reaching out for the hat.

His hand passed straight through it, as though it were smoke.

It vanished.

He cursed softly, before reaching into his pocket and flipping out his phone. He straightened, gazing around him, searching for something—somewhere, nearby, the Mad Hatter was hiding; and no doubt with him was Alice. If he could find them… if he could just figure it out… His eyes scanned the houses around him; the majority of them were flats, with one or two city houses nestled in between shops. He could imagine the Mad Hatter cooped up in a flat, but not Alice.

Never Alice.

He turned and he turned, his eyes searching, his fingers tapping keys on the phone; he pressed CALL, and he heard the familiar ring of a phone, elsewhere. He waited, patiently, searching for a street sign. He found one. He memorised it.

Someone picked up.

"…_hello?"_

"Number six," the Knave stated, waiting for a confirmation from the knight on the other end of the phone; after receiving one, he continued, "I have found Alice. I will send you the details of my location. However, you will need to split up and search for her. The Mad Hatter will be with her, therefore bring _backup. _Do not call me."

"_But what if—?"_

"Under no circumstances will you call me, _do you understand?"_

"…_yes."_

He smiled. "Good boy," he said, and then he hung up. The knight didn't even have time to splutter in protest, no matter how much he probably wanted to. And it was better that way—less fuss, less hassle.

The Knave of Hearts took one last look around, before shifting his glasses back up his nose and turning his collar up. After a few minutes, he would be at his local church. Just in time to catch the priest's first prayer.

**.**

**.**

**fast forward.**

10:32:03

Sakura flipped her wrist, attempting to aim the gun as quickly as possible under Sasuke's careful scrutiny; so far, she'd succeeded in hurting her wrist and smashing a lamp with her foot—Shizune had walked upstairs then, and Sakura had hid Sasuke under the bed, despite his many objections. Her carer had stepped into her bedroom then, peered at her with suspicious eyes, and then retreated back down the stairs.

Only when the door slammed did Sakura breathe a sigh of relief.

"That was _close._"

Sasuke's eloquent response was muffled by her bed, luckily; but from what she caught of his mumbling, he'd said something about a screwdriver, handcuffs and used a hell of a lot of bad language. She'd laughed then, fully relaxing, but tensed a moment after at the sight of his face. No fun and games. This was war.

Sort of.

She aimed again, but apparently her wrist flicked too much that time, and if she'd actually pulled the trigger, she'd have probably shot somewhere to her left, as opposed to straight forwards. She rolled her eyes and placed the gun down on her bed.

"What does it matter, anyway?" She asked, throwing her hands into the air and fixing Sasuke with an incredulous look. "If they planned on turning up, they'd have been here by now. They can't find me."

_(downstairs, the doorbell rang.)_

"Don't jinx it, Sakura."

"_You _believe in jinxes?"

"Hn."

_("excuse me, ma'am, do you happen to know a girl named alice?"_

"_alice? no, there's no alice here. maybe you've got the wrong house."_

"_pink hair and green eyes?")_

"You do! _You_ believe in jinxes!"

_("…you must mean _sakura! _yes, she's right upstairs. would you like me to call her down for you? she's not in trouble, is she? …are you a police officer?"_

"_oh, i'm not a police officer. i picked up a mobile phone of a friend of hers, and i wanted to drop it off with her."_

"_that's very kind of you. excuse me one second."_

"_of course.")_

"Why wouldn't I believe in jinxes?" Sasuke murmured, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms; but his chin jutted out slightly, along with his lower lip, and Sakura would have sworn he was sulking. "Wonderland exists, doesn't it? So why wouldn't—"

"—_SAKURA!"_

Sasuke shut up, instantly. Sakura rolled her eyes, before cupping her hand around her mouth and calling back down to Shizune. "What is it?"

"There's a nice man here to see you! He says he's got a phone one of your friends lost. You come down and get it now!"

Sakura froze, her eyes catching Sasuke's. He nodded.

"…I'll go out the window."

With that, he was gone.

Sakura waited a moment, before scooping up her pistol and slipping out of the door. She started down the stairs, creeping quietly; she could see Shizune talking with the figure, but barely make him out. He was warped by the glass; his features were blurred. As far as she could tell, he was only slightly taller than her—Shizune certainly seemed to dwarf him, that was for sure—and quite slender. In fact, the only thing that truly made him male, as far as she could see, were the broader shoulders and lack of breasts.

She jumped off the final stair.

Shizune backed away, ushering Sakura forwards and then retreating into the kitchen to make coffee. Sakura waited a moment, before stepping forwards and peering at the newcomer. Her eyes widened. He looked like _Gaara_—the March Hare—but there were such obvious differences. This man was smaller; he looked younger, but he seemed older. His eyes were golden-brown, like treacle; they were sleepy. Tired, but filled with a blank cruelty. He was slender; everything about him was tiny.

And he was pointing his gun at her chest.

And she was pointing her gun at his head.

Neither person said anything; but Sakura's eyes flickered upwards, searching for Sasuke, for her backup. The man in front of her noticed her movements, but made no sign of being scared; in fact, he didn't seem pressured at all.

"Coffee?"

Shizune bustled back into the hallway. Both guns vanished. The man turned to Shizune, and all traces of hatred left his eyes; rather, they suddenly seemed kindly—trustworthy. Warm and inviting.

"Thank you, ma'am, but I certainly can't accept…" His voice was lower than Sakura had guessed it would be; lower and softer, to the point where it seemed peaceful.

"Nonsense!" Shizune snapped, forcing one cup into the newcomer's hands and another into Sakura's; she linked her arm around his free hand and practically dragged him inside. "Come in, come in; I you and Sakura have got so much to talk about, no doubt. She doesn't have friends around often, you see."

"_Shizune…!" _Sakura hissed, disguising her panic as embarrassment; a cold-blooded killer was in her house, and she was going to have coffee with him, and where the hell was _Sasuke?_ She followed her foster mother anyway, feeling the weight of her gun tucked into the waistband of her trousers and feeling only slightly more secure. She followed them into the living room, and sat down opposite him.

Shizune beamed at them.

"So, Sakura, don't you want to introduce me to your _friend?"_

She loathed the way Shizune said friend, right then, but she forced herself to smile good-naturedly. "A-ha, well, this is, ahem…"

"Sasori," the man interrupted, stretching one hand out for Shizune to shake. "I go to Sakura's school. We only have a few classes together, and we don't talk much, but I was in her group for our last Chemistry project."

He lied so easily—so fluently—that, for a few seconds, Sakura was convinced. Now that she thought about it, she _did _recall seeing a boy of small frame in her classes; and she had been in a group with a redheaded kid in her last Chemistry project. Then she shook her head, snapping out of it; his words were convincing, yes, but she knew the truth. There was no way he could have been at her school all along.

No way.

Shizune stood up, offering him another smile. "More coffee?"

"Please," Sasori said, despite the fact that he hadn't finished the last one, and his eyes never left Shizune as she wandered out of the room. Then they flickered back to Sakura, and the guns were revealed once again; in fact, they were in practically the same position as before, except they were both sat down.

There was a moment of silence.

"Well… this is an _interesting_ turn of events."

"You could say that," Sakura agreed, before frowning. "Where's Sas—the Mad Hatter?"

"Him?" Sasori tilted his head, as though listening for something; he remained like that for a few seconds, before snapping out of it. "No doubt he's messing around with Deidara. That idiot plays for too long."

That didn't sound reassuring.

"You're a murderer! Why didn't you just _kill_ Shizune?"

"Because I'm only a murderer sometimes."

Sakura narrowed her eyes. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Sasori simply shrugged, gesturing with the gun. "Exactly what I said."

She raised her eyebrows, before sighing, choosing instead to simply stare at him. He was calm, much calmer than she was; and no doubt he was quicker to. She attempted to judge the distance between her and the door, failed, and then attempted to think of a plan; nothing came to mind. Again and again, she called up a blank, as Shizune busied herself making coffee and cleaning and probably cooking something for them to eat.

She didn't have a plan.

Except…

She'd keep him talking.

"You have beautiful eyes."

He looked momentarily startled, and she wondered whether it was because she had spoken or because of what she had said. His eyes narrowed firstly, mistrustful, and then he relaxed; after all, he had a gun too.

It was even.

"Thank you," he paused, unsure of what else to say, but Sakura saved him the effort of a returned compliment.

"They're awfully lonely though."

He didn't respond.

Sakura pressed harder.

"Why are you so _lonely?"_

Sasori smiled bitterly. "Because I'm a murderer, remember?"

And then he pulled the trigger.

**.**

**.**

**back it up.**

10:12:36

The whisperings grew louder.

_("almost there almost there so close i can almost taste it taste him taste BLOOD. get him get him go go GO")_

The bodyguards aimed their guns and fired twice, but Gaara was no longer there; he threw the table upwards, using the momentum to duck downwards, the broken glass still clutched in his hand. He could feel his blood dribbling down his wrist, and he knew that hand would be useless for a good few days. Dimly, he heard screams, as other customers rushed to get out of the way of the psychopath and his father.

His father.

He span underneath the table, pinning his hands by his side as he slid beneath the chair his father was sat on; the older man let out a pitiful mewl of fright, launching himself upwards as though he'd sat on a hot coal. Gaara almost launched himself after the other, had a bullet not chosen that precise moment to tear through his shoulder. Blood spurted across the white tablecloth. It would probably stain.

Okay.

New plan.

Get rid of the bodyguards and _then _kill his father. Easy enough.

He twisted, wobbling slightly—the smell of blood always stunned him—before lunging towards the closest of the two men, a blonde guy with bright blue eyes. The other—a stereotypical bald man, who was probably called Butch—stepped forwards, clubbing Gaara's already injured shoulder with his gun, before balling his fist up, ready for a proper punch. He ducked and lashed out with his free hand, but Blondie's fist collided with the back of his head, and he was sent reeling. He smashed into the table and would no doubt have laid there, had it not been for the two guns both aimed at his head.

"Kid, why don't you just listen to your father, huh?" Butch scowled.

"Yeah, you might actually hurt someone with that thing," Blondie agreed, before gesturing with his gun. "So stand up."

Gaara grinned, flipping them off with his empty hand. "_Blow_ me."

The taunts had been aimed at both of the men in general, but Gaara had guessed it would be Butch who'd react badly. Sure enough, his face turned a beautiful shade of red, and he thrust his gun forwards, into the redhead's open mouth. "Eat this, you fucking queer!"

Hooray for _idiots._

Gaara braced himself with the floor, letting go of the glass, so that he could lay both of his palms flat against the ground—then, without a second thought, he pushed himself upwards with both his hands and his feet; he kicked wildly at Butch's legs, sending the bodyguard crashing down on top of him and dislodging the gun from both his mouth and Butch's hands. It clattered to the floor somewhere above him and he noted the spot down in his head; then, with his free hand, he scrambled around for his makeshift weapon.

His hands closed around the broken glass.

The whisperings grew louder.

_("slit his fucking THROAT")_

And, for once, he actually listened. He ignored the man's pleadings; ignored the fact that he was making a grown man beg and scream and sob for mercy; and dragged the sharp edge across the man's throat. At first, there was nothing. Then blood began to bubble up at the wound, welling over the edge, and then spurting out, like a furious fountain of blood. Butch's cried became gurgles. He sounded like he was screaming underwater. The close proximity meant that Gaara ended up soaked in the copper liquid—the frenzied gunshots reminded Gaara that there was still a second bodyguard.

He was crying.

"Please… _please… _You can't—you _didn't_—please—_please_—!"

"Run away and stop crying then," Gaara snapped, because he couldn't be bothered with the melodramatics; he noticed, absently, that the rest of the restaurant had fallen silent.

Blondie turned tail and ran.

It was then, coated in blood and watching a fleeing thirty-something year old, that Gaara realised his father had used the excitement as a chance to slip away.

He'd lost again.

Absently, he picked a tablecloth up and wiped some of the blood off his face. Then he nudged the steadily cooling body out of the way, and walked over to the desk; the woman there, no doubt a waitress, cowered beneath his gaze.

He placed a few coins on her desk.

"Sorry about the stains."

With that, he left.

**.**

**.**

**onwards we go.**

10:45:52

Sasori pulled the trigger again, but he knew it was useless; he'd let his emotions get the better of him and, in doing so, given Alice the perfect opportunity to fully unleash her power. In fact, to tell you the truth, she appeared to have entirely vanished. Dimly, he heard Shizune sobbing in the kitchen. No doubt she'd heard the shots, then.

He'd have to kill her too.

"Surprise!"

He launched himself forwards, inwardly agreeing with Sakura's childish exclamation—because, hell yes, he _was_ surprised. He hadn't expected her to sneak up on him that quickly, and it was only because of her childish taunt that he'd managed to dodge out of the way. He rolled into a standing position. Alice clapped her hands.

It was then that Sasori decided the girl stood in front of him was certainly not the girl he had been speaking to earlier. The girl from before—Sakura—had been reserved, careful saying anything in front of him, a murderer. This girl was certainly Alice. Ridiculously confident. Completely insane. He wondered where Deidara was and how his fight was going.

He flipped his gun sideways and shot twice. Neither bullet hit their mark, and he decided that someone was playing a cruel trick on him.

The gun against his head agreed with that idea.

"Nighty night, Sasori-_chaaaan._"

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes, feigning indifference, his hand closing around the muzzle and pushing it sideways—she squeezed the trigger anyway, and he felt a searing pain in his hand. He pulled backwards. He ducked away.

This wasn't going in his favour.

He needed backup; the girl was a monster. He closed his eyes, instinctively dodging to the left; the bullet tearing through the flesh of his thigh told him she'd predicted his movements, and plain cruelty was the only reason why he wasn't dead. He wondered absently when he'd dropped his gun. He fell to one knee. He decided, right then and there, that he was going to die.

He opened his eyes.

It was Sakura peering at him then, not Alice, and her face was uncertain; but he'd decided, and it was _his _decision. He reached out, almost gently, and placed the muzzle of the gun against his forehead. She hesitated. He shrugged one shoulder.

"You were wrong, Sakura. I'm not lonely—just tired."

He smiled a small smile.

"_You're_ the one who's lonely. You're a sad, frightened girl, shoved into extraordinarily terrifying circumstances, and you're doing unbelievably well at surviving. But you're not immortal. You can still die. Just don't do it too quickly, or you'll be lonely forever."

Then he placed his hand over hers, gently, kindly, and helped her pull the trigger; helped her blast his brains all over Shizune's favourite sofa. There was a sort of 'oh' moment, when he realised the full extent of what he'd done—and then it was as though everything had been switched off, and he knew nothing.

Sakura let out a choked sob.

The corpse of Sasori slid to the floor.

**.**

**.**

"You're no messiah. You're a movie of the week. You're a fucking t-shirt, at best."  
**-** _Se7en_

**.**

**.**

Outside, the gunshot was heard. Simultaneously, Sasuke and his foe cocked their heads, listening carefully; Alice couldn't be the one dead, that was for sure, due to the fact that neither of them had forgotten about Wonderland. In fact, he remembered it clearly. And apparently so did the blonde knight he was fighting. He caught a wild punch.

"He's _dead,_" he murmured, both eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise. So Sakura had actually won, then.

He _was_ surprised.

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, surprised at the angry reaction those words got; the blonde man span, flipped his gun to his other hand, and shot twice. Sasuke ducked easily. The knight swore loudly, backing away, shooting repeatedly, obviously attempting to escape.

The Mad Hatter smirked.

Then, quick as a flash, he moved. He darted to the left, feinted right, and then double-bluffed; then he ran. The knight's eyes widened. No one had yet outrun the Mad Hatter, and so he ground to a halt, because dying fighting was much better than dying running. He lifted his fists, adopting a defensive stance; Sasuke skidded to a halt, rolled his eyes, and then kicked. The knight span away, grunting slightly, but otherwise fine.

Sasuke's eyes swirled red.

Everything changed. He was a kid again. The world was bathed in blood. The knight's face distorted; his eyes turned red and his smile turned wide and thin and evil. He was the monster. He was the monster.

THE MONSTER.

He moved.

Someone screamed.

**.**

**.**

Inside, Shizune screamed, her hands flying to her mouth in despair as she gazed at the scene before her; apparently, one scream wasn't quite enough. She let out another shrill shriek, followed by another, and another, until her throat felt hoarse and painful. Sakura gazed at her, obviously dazed, no doubt in a state of shock.

The corpse gazed at her as well, with its beautiful wide dead eyes.

She screamed again.

**.**

**.**

A few hours later, the police arrived, but neither Sakura nor Sasuke were there to meet them. Shizune did not say where her foster daughter was. Shizune did not know.

**.**

**.**

At around the same time, Kiba received a reply to his email. On it was a date and a time and the name:

__wasp._

**.**

**.**

Elsewhere, the police arrived at Gaara's rented flat. His neighbours were all too happy to point out the apartment of the redheaded weirdo with the creepy eyes.

When they broke down the door, he'd already climbed out of the window.

He was halfway down the street before they realised he'd gone.

**.**

**.**

It was only five hours later, in Sasuke's apartment, sobbing in his toilet, that Sakura realised there was no turning back—no giving up. Unless she fought, she would die. Unless she won, her newfound friends would be trapped forever.

She unlocked the door and let Naruto give her another cup of too-sweet hot tea.

**.**

**.**

**YOU ARE NOW ENTERING: **WONDERLAND  
YOU _CANNOT_ TURN BACK


	6. cinq: give in to temptations, sinner

**project: **masquerade  
**disclaimer: **i do not own naruto, or the characters in it, or wonderland.  
**summary: **she will follow the white rabbit. she will fall in love with the mad hatter. she will kill the queen of hearts. but fairytales don't always have a happily ever after and she doesn't believe in once upon a times.  
**pairings: **sasusaku  
**notes:** i'd go into a detailed explanation as to what's going on, but you should be able to figure out the rest from the next chapters, hopefully. i just noted an odd glitch, so i've changed that. :)  
**chapter: **cinq: give in to temptations, sinner, and watch the world burn

**

* * *

**

_Ah, Alice-chan. You're late for tea._

**.**

**.**

The Gateway is one entity, made up of three people—or, spirits, as they are more often called by the Wonderlanders. They are not alive, but nor are they dead; rather, they live _between_, acting as a gateway for all things. They were once living; they were once three very different people, with three very different lives. They cannot remember those lives, now; or, they _say_ they cannot remember. It is more likely that they _choose_ not to remember.

Would you want to remember something you cannot ever have?

**.**

**.**

**K —**

01:23:64.  
The Red Brick Coffee House.  
Ask for 'Hyuuga _Neji_'.

_wasp __

**.**

**.**

Wonderland was alive with activity—it practically hummed with it. It was like an electrical pulse, passing throughout the land, and, because of it, tensions were high. Sakura had not seen a single soul since entering Wonderland—even the Cheshire Cat had not made his usual appearance, and she had not spotted Naruto's familiar fluffy tail and snow white ears. She wandered blindly around, unsure of herself, terrified out of her mind; she was so vulnerable on her own. She was no doubt entirely lost, too; that would be just her luck. She felt young—_too _young for this drama.

Deep in her heart, she could tell that something big was going down.

She considered calling for someone, but dismissed the idea quickly—after all, she had no idea who would respond to her plea for help. As far as she could tell, the spectral images she usually saw when a Wonderlander came close didn't apply to Wonderland itself. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her body, feeling ridiculously frail; she pursed her lips, her eyes wide as she gazed into the leafy darkness around her. Wonderland seemed to only be made up of trees and forests; she chuckled lowly. A change of scenery would be nice.

A branch cracked to her left, and she span around, her heart thumping in her chest. There was every chance the noise had just been a coincidence, but she could not help but feel eyes on her; she felt hot and cold and suddenly _calm._

She slipped her hand into her dress pocket, her fingers wrapping around the handle of her gold pistol; she felt safe holding it. Ever since Sasori, the gun gave her a sense of security. It was a weapon—and, with it, _she_ became a weapon; a cold and calculated killer, ruthless and sadistic, but _safe. _She couldn't die like that. Not when she was Alice.

Alice was too strong.

The bushes rustled, and her hand snapped out of her pocket, the gun with it. She pointed it into the darkness, feeling ridiculously silly, but that same sense of safety washed over her once again. She tilted her head, listening carefully, and was confronted with only silence—perhaps it had been an animal of some sort? She was close to placing her gun safely back into her pocket and turning away, when a hand gripped her wrist and pulled her backwards, into the darkness.

Branches ripped at her face, and she spluttered, thrashing away; a second hand pinned her arms to her body, wrapping around her waist, and she felt someone press against her. She opened her mouth to scream, and a gloved hand clamped down on her mouth. "Ah, Alice-chan," her captor murmured lowly, and she could hear his mocking smile in his voice; but the voice wasn't familiar to her, so she remained as still as she could. "You need to be more careful."

Her heartbeat began to thump quicker, to the point where she could barely think straight; her weapon had dropped uselessly to the floor, in her struggle, and she was completely defenceless. In fact, her position was far too vulnerable; there was every chance she'd die there. She needed to escape; she needed to get as far away as possible, with or without the gun.

The man cleared his throat, obviously about to talk again, but she didn't give him the chance. She opened her mouth, thrusting her lips backwards and simultaneously biting down on his hand; the man let out a barely-stifled yelp, releasing Sakura as he did so. She shot forwards, pushing off him to give herself extra momentum, scooping up her gun as she did so. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stagger backwards, a figure blending in with the darkness; then she was running, gun in hand, and she had no time to look over her shoulder.

"Alice, _wait_—!"

He was following her. She could barely hear him—he was stealthy, definitely, and moved almost silently. Only the occasional snap of a branch, and the approaching light footsteps, alerted her of his presence. He was too fast. She could never outrun him. Not as _Sakura._

So she would have to fight, then.

She slowed, skidding to a halt, and swung around, aiming her gun and pulling the trigger once; she watched as he ducked through the air; she heard the bullet thud into the tree behind him. She didn't have time to pull the trigger again; he launched himself forwards, his arm outstretched. She barely had time to gasp, before his hand had closed around her throat and she was pinned roughly to the tree behind her.

The two surveyed each other.

He was quite _normal_, in his pale grey polo-neck jumper, pulled up over half of his face and one eye, and his black suit trousers. He had silver-grey hair, which stuck up at odd angles. He wore a black tailcoat, with a thin pipe and an orange book tucked into the pocket. However, that appeared to be where the normalities ended; his entire tailcoat was covered in badges—_entirely_ covered in them. They appeared to be badges of various different caterpillars; and, as she watched them, the caterpillars squirmed and moved, like they were _alive. _Her eyes widened.

His visible eye crinkled, and she saw his lips move into a smile underneath the polo-neck; his grip on her neck loosened, before disappearing altogether, and he offered her a mock salute.

"I'm sorry about startling you, Alice," the man said, his smile turning sheepish. "I'm the Caterpillar—part time mercenary and full-time wise guy."

Sakura blinked, her mouth dropping into an 'o' shape; and then she narrowed her eyes, instantly mistrustful. "…what do you mean 'part time' mercenary?" She murmured, crossing her arms and silently cursing the lack of distance between her and the newcomer.

He offered her a little shrug, but made no offer to expand.

"You're on my side, then?" She tried again, feeling vaguely confused; this man emitted a feeling of security and safety, but she didn't trust him. Sasuke had told her time and time again; she could not trust _anyone_, not even herself. After all, the eyes are easily tricked.

He appeared to be able to answer that question, despite the fact that he gave her another little half-shrug. "I suppose so."

"…you _suppose_ so?"

"Yes," he nodded, his eye crinkling again, showing her that he was smiling beneath his mask. "I _suppose _so. I am, after all, on the side of whoever pays best—and, right now, that appears to be _your _side. However, I have been requested by… a _friend_, that you be taken to her immediately. Will you follow me, Alice-chan?"

She considered her options. The man in front of her was obviously dangerous, although she couldn't see any weapons on him; but there was every chance he had a hidden weapon, much like the Mad Hatter's hat. Without slipping into badass Alice-mode—and she had no idea how to do that willingly—she doubted she could beat him in any kind of combat. It would be in her best interests to just comply. The Caterpillar had also said 'her'; she knew of only one woman, so far, in Wonderland, and she was the White Queen—she wondered, briefly, if the Queen would send a mercenary to pick her up.

No, that was unlikely.

She eyed him curiously, unable to help herself; perhaps if she could just talk her way out of it… "Mr Caterpillar… who _are_ you?"

She watched as his visible eye widened in surprise, and then he smiled. "I'm exactly who I say I am, Alice. And who are _you_?"

Sakura frowned. "I can't tell you—"

"—ah, of course, but you misunderstand; that's _not_ what I meant, Alice-chan," the Caterpillar murmured, and he took a step forwards, pressing his finger against her chest. "Who are you, inside _there?_"

She blinked, unsure of what to say.

He chuckled, shrugging one shoulder. "A previous Alice once told me that she did not _know_ who she was. I said, 'what a curious thing. How can you now know who you are?' She replied, rather smartly, 'you see, I knew who I was at breakfast, but I have changed several times since then'. 'Oh, really?' I asked her, 'explain.' She shook her head at me and smiled. 'I cannot explain, because I'm not myself.'"

The Caterpillar gazed at Sakura.

"Are _you_ yourself?"

Confused, she nodded her head.

"Ah, but how can you tell? You've changed so much since breakfast, haven't you? Sometimes you are tall, sometimes you are small, but are you _yourself?_"

She couldn't respond. The Caterpillar smiled cheerily.

"Now, hop onto my back, Alice-chan."

She let out a resigned sigh, and nodded weakly. The Caterpillar grinned, his posture relaxing—obviously he'd expected more of a fight from her, but she'd given in ridiculously easily. He motioned for her to step forwards, and she did so; he snatched her wrists, turning so that she stood behind him. Then, with a helping jump from her, he tugged her onto his back; instinctively, she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, before, with a gentle poke from him, loosening them slowly.

He glanced back over his shoulder at her, his visible eye concerned. "Ready?"

She nodded.

"_Ready._"

**.**

**.**

"Where _is_ she? Oh God, Sasuke, we can't find her _anywhere!_ At first, I thought she might have shrunk herself by accident, but she hasn't—she's here somewhere, and we can't find her! This is awful! _Awful!"_

Naruto was panicking. He did it sometimes, when he was particularly worried. He paced backwards and forwards, wringing his wrists nervously, every now and then gazing at Sasuke. His ears flicked to and fro, twitching anxiously. The Mad Hatter had been remarkably calm throughout the entire thing, sitting down in his usual chair at the tea-table, after searching for Alice. He had announced, rather loudly, that she was lost and she was an idiot, and if she ended up dead, it was her own fault. Then he had tipped his hat forwards, over his eyes, and proceeded to completely ignore everyone, including the White Rabbit.

Which was, quite frankly, pissing Naruto off.

He glanced briefly at the Dormouse, who simply shrugged in response, and then at the March Hare, who didn't give any response, whatsoever. In fact, Gaara seemed to be thinking of entirely different thing; he was _definitely _lost in thought. He slammed his hands down on the table in front of the Hatter, disturbing a plate stacked high of bread and causing the contents of a teacup to slosh over the table-cloth. Sasuke still didn't move.

Naruto scowled, biting back the things he really wanted to say, and simply muttering, "What are we going to _do?"_

At first, the Rabbit was sure the Hatter wouldn't respond; then, finally, unable to take it any longer, he reached out and grabbed the unresponsive boy by the front of his shirt, tugging him forwards. Cups overturned. A fork slid onto the ground. The Dormouse and the March Hare watched on, each vaguely interested as to the outcome.

He ignored them.

Instead, Naruto stared into the Mad Hatter's eyes—there was a glimmer of fury, that much he could see, and then they turned blank again. Sasuke placed both of his hands on top of Naruto's, gripping them with surprising strength. "Let _go."_

"Answer my question!"

Sasuke raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a mocking smirk. "How should I know? I'm not her babysitter."

The White Rabbit glowered at Sasuke for a moment longer, before throwing him away, the disgust visible on his face. He was angry, but so was the Hatter, and neither of them were good at hiding that. He marched away, muttering lowly beneath his breath, heading towards the forest—no doubt he was going to look for Sakura again. Sasuke, meanwhile, plonked himself back into his seat, heaving a theatrical sigh, watching in amusement as Naruto stopped, his stance rigid and tense.

"If…"

Naruto's voice was dark, filled with a boiling, trembling rage.

"If Sakura dies, I _will_ kill you."

With that, the White Rabbit disappeared into the dark forest of Wonderland.

Sasuke let out a soft sigh, linking his hands together—he was surprised to see that they trembled in rage, and his knuckles were stark white. He closed his eyes, ignoring the Dormouse's questioning glance; it didn't matter. He thought of the White Rabbit and of Sakura and of Alice and of the Monster, and let out a bitter chuckle.

Kill him?

"…I'd like to see you try."

**.**

**.**

The Caterpillar finally slowed to a halt, loosening his grip on Sakura's ankles and waiting patiently for her to slide off his back. She blinked, obviously startled—she'd grown quite accustomed to the warmth of his back, and it felt as though the journey had only been a short one. She slipped off his back and steadied herself; she was at a cross-road, of sorts. She glanced back down the path that they had come from, and frowned, before looking in the opposite direction. Then she gazed quizzically at the man, waiting for him to tell her what was going on.

"I'm afraid I can't go any further."

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she placed her hands on her hips. "Well, why _not?_ You've taken me this far, and I have no idea where I am. You can't just leave me here!"

He scratched the back of his head, peering warily down the new path; it was the only path without a signpost. He seemed to be considering something, but then he shook his head sadly. "I cannot go down there, Alice, but _you_ can. It is a path wrought with danger, but I believe you are strong enough."

"But why can't _you_ take me?"

He smiled cheerily, "Because we're being followed."

She felt a shiver run down her spine, as she peered back down the path. Followed? She couldn't sense any kind of presence. But, what if it was the Queen of Hearts, or one of their men? She would be killed upon leaving him. She fixed him with a scowl. "All the more reason for you to come with me, then."

"Ah, well, you see…" He seemed sheepish; but then he fixed her with another cheery smile. She found herself shivering again; something sinister lurked behind his grin. "I'm going to go and kill our stalker, Alice-chan."

"But… But I don't know where to go!"

The Caterpillar smiled, pointing at the winding path ahead of her; he gave her a little sheepish half-shrug. "Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end," he murmured, before turning and offering her a little wave, strolling back down the way he had come—she watched in disbelief as he slipped his little orange book out of his pocket and began to read. His final words floated back to her.

"Then _stop."_

Sakura frowned, watching as he disappeared back down the path; she watched his retreating back for a few moments, before turning and heading down her path. She wrapped her arms around her chest, rubbing her shoulders as she walked—it seemed to be getting colder, as she moved further down the path. The trees crowded overhead, blocking out the sunlight and casting shadows across the ground; it grew darker and darker, and she became more wary. She furrowed her brow, slipping her hand into her pocket and wrapping her fingers around her pistol.

She began to walk faster, facing forwards; but her eyes flickered from side to side, checking out the darkness. Everything seemed to be so clear to her—all the noises, all the shapes, all the smells. A branch cracked—a leaf rustled—an owl hooted. Distantly, she could smell soup. She wrinkled her nose, frowning slightly; too much pepper. She blinked, beginning to speed up—actually, that smell of soup was pretty strong.

She broke into a sprint.

The smell of food meant there'd be a house nearby; and a house meant safety. Who knew? Maybe the woman who'd asked for her was there—maybe that house meant security, and an escape from the darkness and danger. A small smile of relief split across her face, and she laughed as she ran; laughed loudly and hysterically, because the noises were getting louder and closer, and she could hear something running in time with her.

The house came into view—a small cottage, with red bricks and a thatched roof; smoke curled from the chimney, and she could see people moving in the window. She flat-out sprinted, wishing she'd tried harder in her sports classes—the thing chasing her let out a low growl, and seemed to put on an extra burst of speed. It was a monster—it _had_ to be a monster—and it was chasing Sakura.

She was clutching her gun.

Blindly, she threw her arm up, knowing full well that her aim wasn't quite right—but she pulled the trigger anyway. There was a yelp of surprise, and the sound of a scuffle—something crashed through the bushes behind her, and fell, sprawled, across the path. She didn't glance over her shoulder. Instead, Sakura let out a shriek of triumph, and put on a final burst of speed. She skidded to a halt, just outside the door, and rapped loudly on the wood, twice.

Behind her, the _thing_ began to stagger to its feet.

She knocked again, this time more urgently, turning so that she was facing the thing; it swayed slightly, and stepped forwards, into a patch of light. His wings unfurled, stretching out and beating at the sky—Sakura's hair whipped backwards and forwards, flying into her eyes. His skin was grey and cracked; his ragged hair fell down over his shoulders, dark in the night, but obviously ginger in the daylight. His eyes were animal-like; he glared at her with such rage and pain, that she felt he would burst at any moment. He swayed again, lurching towards her, and she saw his clawed hands; one clutched at his chest, where blood soaked through the remnants of clothes. He righted himself, let out a roar, and then raced forwards, moving on all fours much like an animal—and she suddenly felt like prey.

She shrieked.

The door flew open and she fell backwards—but the thing was close, and it lifted its clawed hand; a hand grasped her collar and tugged her into safety—the claws raked through the air where she'd been stood just a moment before.

A girl about her age slammed the door shut after her, locking it quickly, easily, and offering Sakura a feeble smile. "Sorry about Juugo, Alice-chan. He gets so _excitable._"

For a few seconds, she couldn't speak, and the hands which had pulled her to safety had to hold her steady, as well. She glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see a sickly looking boy, with too-long off-white hair, which hung over his face. He flipped his head back, and offered her a sharp-toothed grin. She smiled cautiously back at him, shifting herself so that she was stood up entirely on her own, before turning back to the girl.

She had beautiful hair—red like a rose—and it fell over her shoulders, to midway down her back; she wore glasses, thin plastic-framed spectacles which looked entirely out of place in Wonderland. But _she _looked out of place, with her short red dress, her red and white candy-striped tights and her numerous white petticoats. She was dressed oddly; it didn't suit her, and yet it suited her down to the chunky black boots she was wearing. Her eyes were red—no, upon a second look, Sakura realised that they were in fact a dark pink.

"You…" Sakura blinked, confused. These people… She had no idea who they were. "I don't know you, but you told me his name. What if I was an enemy?"

The girl rolled her eyes, folding her arms over her chest. "Would it matter? If you were an enemy, we'd toss you back out for Juugo to eat, _yum,_" the girl smacked her lips mockingly, before flashing Sakura a dark smile, filled with sin and temptation, and alluring. _So_ alluring. "But you're _not_ an enemy. You're _Alice_."

Sakura nodded hesitantly in response. The girl flashed her a bright grin, stepping forwards and offering her hand; Sakura shook it slowly, unsure of herself and the situation she was in. The girl's eyes flashed behind her glasses, and she smiled a small, slow smile. "You're _awfully_ pretty, Alice."

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. This was odd. She was oh so confused, and she wasn't entirely sure whether it was better to be inside, than outside. In fact, if this continued for any longer, she would have to excuse herself and make a bid for freedom. She could probably—_possibly —_do it, too.

"I'm the Duchess," the girl said, before winking. "But you can call me _Karin._"

The boy behind them scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms as he did so; Sakura wondered if that counted as multi-tasking. The Duchess—_but you can call me Karin_—shot the boy a filthy look, her hand still clutching Sakura's, and then she turned back to the pink-haired girl. "That idiot is Suigetsu, the Mock Turtle. He thinks he's so big and clever and better than me, but he _isn't._ He's a moron. You don't have to talk to him, Alice-_chan._ You can just talk to me, instead."

She glanced over her shoulder at Suigetsu, who raised both of his eyebrows in a sort of 'what can you do?' manner, before tucking his hands into his pockets and heading into a different room. Sakura turned back to Karin, aware of the fact that the other girl was still touching her hand—she reclaimed the appendage slowly, offering the other girl a hesitant little grin. "Ah, uhm, Miss…"

"_Please. _Call me Karin-chan."

"…_Karin-chan_, then; were you making soup? Because I _swore _I could smell something cooking," Sakura finished, attempting to change the subject; this girl was over-bearing and admiringly confident, and she reminded Sakura of Ino, the candy girl. Sweet to taste, but eat too much and you feel sick.

Karin clapped her hands, nodding once. She then turned away, leading her towards the kitchen, where Suigetsu was slouched across one of the counters, stirring a large pot idly. He glanced at them, as they entered, and frowned as Karin shoved him aside—picking up the spoon, she poured some of the liquid into her throat, seemingly oblivious to the scalding heat. Sakura winced sympathetically. Karin, however, was unaffected. She flashed Sakura a grin. "Come and try a bit, Alice-chan."

Sakura bit her lip, before moving hesitantly forwards—Karin was already ladling soup into a bowl for her, so there was no point in objecting. She glanced across at Suigetsu, he shrugged both of his shoulders, grinning lazily—she'd get no help from him, then. No doubt he was used to the eccentric Duchess. Sakura wasn't, though, and she took the bowl from Karin gingerly, with a small smile.

Steam curled from the bowl, and she stared apprehensively at the liquid. It was frothy and pale milky white. It looked like onion soup, but she couldn't be sure—and it absolutely _stank_ of pepper. The Duchess offered her a pleading look, and she sighed, giving in. She scooped up a small amount of the liquid and placed it in her mouth.

She almost _gagged._

The amount of pepper… it was _unimaginable! _Her tongue felt like it was on fire, and she wanted nothing more than to spit the foul thing out; but she swallowed it all the same, offering Karin a weak smile, once she was finished. Her eyes flickered across to Suigetsu, who was barely stifling his laughter, and then back to the Duchess.

The girl grinned, clapping her hands together. "You like it, don't you? Here, I'll put some in a flask and you can take it home for supper!"

With that, Karin busied herself around the kitchen, shuffling pots and pans. As far as Sakura could tell, the girl seemed trustworthy; as of yet, she hadn't done anything utterly horrid, other than feed Sakura foul-tasting soup—and judging by Suigetsu's laughter, it was obvious that the Duchess couldn't make soup to save her life. However, there was the thing outside to think about—Juugo. Karin definitely knew him. In fact, the way she'd said it made it sound like they were _friends._

She narrowed her eyes. "Did you want something, uhm, Karin-_chan_, or did you just bring me here to eat soup?"

The Duchess stiffened, just momentarily, before continuing as she was, remaining silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Suigetsu rise and leave the room, gazing at the back of Karin's head with something akin to sorrow… but there was something else there, and Sakura couldn't quite make it out. So she turned back to the Duchess, her brows furrowing, and wondered if this was a normal reaction for her. She tried again. "Ah, Karin-chan…?"

"Alice."

The Duchess finally spoke, but she didn't turn, and her voice had turned dark. Whatever she said, it was going to be deadly serious. Almost by accident, Sakura slipped her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around her gun.

"Alice," she repeated, before heaving a sigh. "Wonderland is currently at war. It always is, though it becomes most apparent when Alice is found. Before you came, I was the Duchess—a proud and well-respected individual, with social standing and a house to _die_ for. But the Queen of Hearts is a paranoid _bastard_, and so he sent the Jabberwock after me, when I was undefended. I managed to flee, and I hid here, in this little cottage. I was found by a beautiful man, who told me not to worry; the White Queen would forgive me, and I would be safe again. I went to her, seeking security; she gave me my guards, and told me to stay here."

"One night, Juugo _changed. _He had never done it before. I'd known him since I was young—he had been both a friend, and a loyal guard. And yet, that night, he struck out at me, and scarred my stomach," she traced a thin diagonal line across herself as she spoke, starting beneath her left breast and ending just to the right of her navel. "Suigetsu only just managed to get him outside. I think it was then that I realised I had been tricked, but I did not know who by; either by the Queen of Hearts, which would have been perfectly normal, or the White Queen. I could not trust anyone. In fact, you can't _ever_ trust anyone."

She pointed at the forgotten bowl of soup, which lay directly in front of Sakura. "For example, that soup is a slow-acting poison. It won't kill you. It drugs you—it makes your movements slow and your vision blurry, and, if you attempt to fight it, it will begin to release a deadly toxin. You wouldn't die instantly. It would take months, even _years. _But you would always know that you were going to die before your time."

Sakura's blood ran cold. "You… you _poisoned_ me?"

Karin flapped her hand dismissively. "Don't worry. I _lied._"

She was confused—completely terrified, but confused nonetheless. This girl…she couldn't tell if she was a friend or a foe. In fact, she had remained so relaxed throughout all of her story. "If it isn't a poison, why did you—?"

"It _is_ a poison," the Duchess corrected, stirring a pot of soup idly. "But I didn't feed _you_ any. In fact, the poison is here, in this bowl, and I have been feeding it to my two friends every day since they came here."

"…_why?"_

"I love them, but I cannot trust them."

Karin turned, placing one hand on her hip—her lips twitched upwards, into a cool, mocking smile and her eyes flashed blood-red behind her glasses. She was deadly—she was dangerous. She was a viper, coiled to strike, just waiting for the right moment. And, yet, she was still so beautiful—beautiful in a way the White Queen was not; beautiful in a way Ino could never be. But Sakura recognised that beauty—she had seen it in Sasori's eyes, as he placed his hand over hers and pulled the trigger.

It was the tragic beauty of someone just waiting to die.

The Duchess tilted her head, still smiling. "Surely _you_ have friends like that, right, Alice?"

Unwillingly, her thoughts flickered to Sasuke; but she knew, from his eyes, that he would never hurt her. He could try—he might _want_ to. But he would never be able to. She didn't know why she knew—she didn't know how she knew—but his eyes told her nonetheless.

Sakura met Karin's cool smile with an equally frosty one of her own. "No, I'm afraid I _don't. _I trust all those who ask me to trust them. I'd trust _you_, too, if you wanted me to. Because, if I didn't, this world would be lost to misery and deception and cruelty, and I don't want that to happen."

The Duchess' eyes widened in surprise, and then she chuckled softly, shaking her head and closing her eyes. She ran a hand down her face, suddenly tired; she turned back to the stove and switched of the gas; there was a faint popping noise, and then everything seemed to fall silent. She turned back to Sakura.

"Of course. I should have expected as much from you, Alice. But, you see, you seem to have forgotten—this world has _always_ been lost to misery and deception and cruelty and _darkness._"

Karin laughed.

"And one lost little girl _cannot change that._"

**.**

**.**

The Cheshire Cat pressed his hands together, gazing at his fingertips curiously; they were as soft as could be, and, yet, he felt that they should be rough and calloused. He spent much of his time climbing up trees, after all; oh, it didn't make sense, not to him. He shrugged his shoulders, choosing instead to place his hands in his pockets, as Seven escorted him through the palace.

"Ah, Mr Knight," he purred, his lips stretching into his usual tight smile. "You don't seem very happy. You should _smile_ a bit."

The knight shot him a glance—a puzzled frown—before rolling his eyes and shrugging. Seven wasn't usually very talkative, so it confused the Cat when he opened his mouth to respond. "And how would you suggest I smile, Mr Cat? If I smile like _you_, I'd frighten small children."

"You already _do, _dickface," another voice piped up, and Five joined them, standing at the Cat's other side. "Hey, did you here? Nine is dead."

"I heard."

"You did?" Five sounded genuinely surprised. "I thought I was the only person who ever spoke to you? Well, I pity _that_ sorry fucker. You killed him afterwards, didn't you?"

Seven frowned again, before nodding. "Of course."

"Jeez, the Queen'll rip your balls off," Five snickered, nudging the Cheshire Cat—he arched his back, surprised, before realising that Five had no doubt said something funny, and he was supposed to laugh. He did so. "He told you not to."

"He was unimportant."

Five blinked, before raising his eyebrows. "Oh really? Tell me, who was he, then?"

Seven remained silent, as they turned a corner—and the Cheshire Cat couldn't help but feel curious as to who it was as well. Ah, it was a habit he would never grow out of—he was, after all, a _cat. _And what did curiosity kill? He felt his smile stretch, growing wider and wider—and, as it did so, the voice of his brother whispered something, but he ignored it. He ignored it _all._

"…it was the Dodo."

There was a moment of silence, as Five comprehended the answer; and then he burst out into fits of laughter, bending over and clutching his stomach. "The Dodo? The _Dodo? _That's too funny! That poor fucker!"

"He was only trying to be _nice._"

Five and Seven simultaneously glanced at the Cat, shared a glance, and then Five was laughing again, harder than before, and even Seven let out an approving chuckle. The Cheshire Cat scratched his head, blinking; he didn't understand them at all. He hadn't even made a joke. Even so, he let his face fall back into its usual expression, as they stopped outside of a grand door; Seven reached forwards, rapping briefly on it, before stepping back.

The door swung open.

"The Queen will see you now, _Cheshire Cat_."

**.**

**.**

—and  
lead us not into temptation;  
but deliver us from evil  
(for thine is the kingdom,  
the power,  
and the glory;)

_forever  
(and ever)_

**.**

**.**

**M**

**A**

**S**

**Q**

**U**

**E**

**R**

**A**

**D**

**E**

**.**

**.**

_snow white lived in a pretty palace  
and rose red grew jealous_

**.**

**.**

He lay writhing on the floor, curling and arching his back, hissing and spitting. His tail flew backwards and forwards, and he lashed out with his claws, hoping to injure the one hurting him—but he couldn't. He couldn't reach. He could barely do anything; he was thrashing too wildly for that, and the pain was clouding his mind. He was remembering all over again. He was remembering and realizing. For a few seconds, the pain subsided, and he flung himself onto his hands and knees, glowering up at the man.

"_You…_" He panted, gasping for breath and trying to speak all at once. "You _lied._ My brother, he's… I _killed_ him. But you—you _made_ me—it wasn't my _fault!"_

The Queen of Hearts smiled blankly.

Suddenly the pain was back, and he clutched his head, groaning in agony. It only become worse, and he felt his entire body tremble uncontrollably—he stiffened, throwing his head back and letting out a shout as he smacked against the floor. He tried to move, tried to get away, but found himself unable to—he could barely control his own body. He screamed, with rage and pain and sadness, and tears sprang to his eyes. He saw dimly, through blurred eyes, as the Queen crossed the room and sat down, leaning his cheek on his fist and still _smiling._

Then his eyes met the others, and everything began to fade to black. He could hear noises, distantly, like faded memories—he could hear his own screams, mingling with someone else's. When he opened his eyes, his mother lay dead on the floor, in a pool of her own blood, and his father lay sprawled across the bed. He heard sobbing.

A little boy was sprawled across the floor in front of him, a hand raised above his head in an effort to protect himself; his eyes were wide, and he was shaking. His sobs were pitiful. They wrenched at his heart.

He felt his arms raise; he spotted the knife in his hand. He knew what was going to happen, but he couldn't stop himself from crying out.

"No—_stop!"_

It was too late. The knife moved in a gleaming arch, and then there was a scream and a spray of warm blood. It splattered his face. He held the knife in his trembling hands, before dropping to his knees and keeling over, resting on his brother's dead body. His tears dripped onto the boy's face; and he screamed.

"_Brother!"_

From behind him, there was a low chuckle.

"Good boy, little brother."

And then the vision faded to black, as his eyes closed—when they opened, his mother lay dead on the floor, in a pool of her own blood, and his father lay sprawled across the bed. He heard sobbing. And it began again.

"…n—_no…"_

The Cheshire Cat was trapped in a nightmare.

**.**

**.**

**the red brick coffee house.**

01:23:64

A bell jangled, as the door swung open.

Kiba stepped inside, his hands shoved into his pockets, ignoring the fact that it was pitch-black outside and that meant that the café was supposed to be closed. Inside, the lights were all off; he could only dimly make out the counter, but he stepped forwards anyway. It no doubt counted as trespassing; briefly, he wished he'd brought Ino along. Granted, she would have whined and complained all the time, but she would have been company, and he was beginning to feel both foolish and lonely, stood in the dark.

He glanced to his left, along the line of café booths, until his gaze fell upon the last one; a candle was flickering on the table. He began to walk forwards, keeping his hands in his pockets—he remained silent, wondering who exactly the Wasp had found. Knowing that guy, it was probably someone creepy or dangerous—after all, Kiba had only met the Wasp after his computer was hacked by the guy. He'd walked upstairs, with the intention of cyber-shopping, when, after switching on his computer, he'd been met with a big CGI wasp. It had been there for a full day; and, in that time, Kiba had used everything in his power to track the person behind it down.

He hadn't found the person, in the end.

The person had found him.

He shrugged away the memory, and stopped, gazing at the booth in front of him—there was a candle, sure, but the booth was entirely empty. A napkin lay discarded on one of the seats; he bent down and picked it up; it was blank. He straightened, letting out a sigh—and felt something cold pressed against the back of his head. He scowled. "Jeez, I wish people would stop pointing guns at me. It gets old."

"Who are you?" The voice asked; it was soft and low, and unmistakeably masculine. So there'd be no sweet-talking his way out of this one, then; and, as that thought occurred to Kiba, so did another.

This had been a bad idea.

"Inuzuka Kiba," he replied, easily.

There was silence, and then—

"…that's not what I meant."

"Then I don't know what you mean," Kiba snapped, folding his arms. "Look, if you're some kind of robber, then back off; but if you're Hyuuga Neji, sit the fuck down and let's talk like men, hm?"

The man chuckled, but made no effort to do what Kiba had suggested; not that he'd actually expected his plan to work, anyway. This wasn't exactly the best situation he could be in, but it wasn't the worst, either. The guy didn't seem like a psycho. Not yet, anyway.

"Which side are you on?"

Ah, questions. But Kiba thought he understood this one; he was pretty sure the guy was Neji, which meant that the man had to have some information on either Sasuke or Wonderland. And, judging from his questions, he guessed it was the latter.

"I'm with _Alice_."

"Then sit down," the man murmured, and Kiba was sure he was Neji, now. He complied, sitting down hastily, and watching as the man sat down opposite—his face was illuminated, briefly, by the light, and Kiba saw flames flickering in pale white eyes. He placed something on the table, and Kiba promptly scowled.

It was a plastic gun—the kind children played with. He'd been tricked by a man with a _plastic cowboy gun._ Oh, that was definitely embarrassing. He was glad he hadn't brought Ino along. He met Neji's gaze, and was surprised to see amusement flickering across his otherwise stony features.

"You're not part of the Game," Neji stated, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"No, I'm not," Kiba murmured, confirming his beliefs. "But my friend is—and if she isn't careful, she's going to get herself killed."

Neji said nothing, for a moment, choosing instead to gaze at the flickering candle flame—and Kiba took this as an opportunity to gaze at him, curious. His skin was too pale—deathly pale—and there were bags underneath his eyes. His hair didn't look like it had been cut in a while; although he had tied it back into a messy ponytail, strands hung down over his face. But Kiba's eyes flickered to his forehead, and he bit back a gasp—because there, on the pale skin, was a scar. It was thin and angry—deep enough for Kiba to know that it had probably bled non-stop. The other noticed him staring and smiled coldly, reaching up and tracing the scar gingerly.

He opened his mouth, frowned, and then finally spoke. "I wasn't part of the Game either; I went blissfully unaware throughout a good part of my relationship with… _her._ But, one day, she came to me, and she was crying. She told me everything she knew. The next time I saw her was in a glass coffin, and she'd never looked more beautiful."

His voice was sad, yes, but filled with something else—a wistfulness that Kiba couldn't quite place. At first, he assumed it could only be due to longing—this girl, whoever she was, had been close to Neji, and she had been taken from him quite suddenly. But, then Kiba wasn't quite sure… When he thought about it, it sounded more like Neji was longing to be included.

In the Game.

In Wonderland.

"Who was she?"

Neji raised an eyebrow, moving his hand away from his forehead and placing it down on the table. "Her name was Hisagia Tenten. She was the White Rabbit, before _your_ White Rabbit. She was murdered. I loved her."

His voice was bitter—cold and cruel, filled with hatred. Kiba furrowed his brow, thinking quickly; this boy was obviously motivated by revenge. He was too attached. If Kiba didn't accept his help, it would be a downfall for both of them—Kiba wouldn't get his information and Neji wouldn't get his chance. But he was curious.

Oh so _curious._

"…do you know who killed her?"

He nodded, and Kiba's heartbeat quickened.

"Who?"

Neji didn't say anything. Instead, he stood up, his eyes closed and his features blank—Kiba watched him in bewilderment, silent as the other boy scooped up his toy gun. He shifted out of the booth, bowed his head in farewell, and then turned, walking away. For a few seconds, Kiba was frozen where he sat—and then he leapt out of his seat, gritting his teeth and snarling. The Hyuuga paused at the door, obviously waiting.

"God damn it, Neji, tell me _who!"_

There was silence.

Then—

A murmur.

A whisper.

A terrible _truth._

The door slid open, and Neji left.

Kiba sank back in his seat, his features pale, and watched the candle flame flicker. Numb—he felt unmistakeably _numb. _He reached forwards, unaware of the fact that he was doing so, and pinched the flame between his thumb and forefinger. The killer… the one who had destroyed the old White Rabbit—the one who had extinguished Tenten's life…

"Uchiha _Sasuke._"

**.**

**.**

"You never told me why you wanted to see me, Duchess," Sakura murmured, from her seat at the table; after Karin's outburst, the pair had fallen into silence, each thinking of different things—each wondering about the other. She could not help but feel as though the red-headed girl was broken. She wondered who had broken her.

(_"…I was found by a beautiful man…")_

Karin looked up from her poisoned soup, blinking behind her glasses—and it looked as though she were blinking back tears. Then she smiled, and took a step forwards, moving towards Sakura—she remained still, not flinching as the other girl fingered a few pink locks of hair.

"I just wanted to see what you were like, Alice-chan."

She laughed softly, letting go of her hair and stepping backwards.

"And trust me, you definitely _don't_ disappoint. You're as noble and as brilliant as I always hoped Alice would be. You're so naïve and cute, too. Innocent, but not. You've already seen things, but you still have no idea how bad it's going to get. No idea at all."

_("…found by a beautiful man…")_

Sakura frowned, staring at the girl; she was so bitter. She could see it in the way her eyes flickered everywhere; in the way her grip on the wooden spoon she was holding tightened; in the way her shoulders hunched and tensed; in the way her bottom lip trembled. She could see her sorrow and her anger, and she could see the two emotions battling for control beneath her surface, leaving her bitter and confused. She could see it all. It was all so clear for her.

_("…a beautiful man…)_

"Karin-chan," she said, her voice sharp and strong. "The man who found you… he broke your heart, didn't he?"

The Duchess stiffened, but made no attempt to reply.

"When Juugo changed, you felt as though the man had betrayed you—because Juugo didn't start changing _before_ the man found you, did he?"

Still there was no reply.

"Who was this man, Karin?"

Sakura watched as the Duchess visibly tensed; she bowed her head, and her expression was hidden by a curtain of dark red hair. She was shaking—either from anger or sadness, but she couldn't tell. She doubted Karin could tell, either. She took a deep, shaky breath, before finally speaking and, when she did, her voice was mocking.

"You already know though, don't you, Alice-chan? You're not _stupid. _Of course you've realised that that beautiful man, who stole my heart and crushed it between his fingers, was none other than the _Mad Hatter_," the Duchess hissed, "You've met him, haven't you? He's beautiful, but he's so… he's such an _ass."_

She blinked, taken aback. "I… I don't really know…"

Karin ignored her, stamping her foot—she was mad; and Sakura was utterly confused. "He's such an _ass!" _She repeated, scowling. "He was all, 'Hold my hand—you're with friends now,' and I turned into a thirteen year old _brat _again. He _made_ me fall in love with him! But when I told him, he turned me down; and now I can't fall _out_ of love with him—believe me, I've _tried._"

Sakura hesitated, unsure of what to say; the Duchess was being cheery, yes—she was stomping and raging and fuming, but the movements were too exaggerated. She was forcing them. Her eyes… her eyes were sad.

((broken))

She paused, pursed her lips, and then nodded. Karin, in the middle of a rant about sexy bad boys with nasty personalities and no idea about _feelings_, barely noticed her; and when she finally spotted Alice stood upright, her hair shielding her face, she immediately stopped speaking, falling silent instantly. Her hands, which she'd been using to strangle an invisible Mad Hatter, fell to her side, and balled into fists. She waited.

Sakura took a step forwards, staggered, and then placed her hand on the other's shoulder—and Karin sucked in a breath, still waiting.

She'd been waiting a long time.

"Karin…"

Silence.

"The Mad Hatter, he…" She paused, before shaking her head, flashing the Duchess a warm smile. "Never mind. Call me Sakura."

Karin's eyes widened, and then she smiled, meeting Sakura's smile with an equally friendly grin. "Ah, Sakura—"

"—no, that's not right."

The Duchess blinked, her eyes questioning.

Alice giggled.

"Call me Sakura-_chan._"

**.**

**.**

The March Hare stared out across Wonderland, from the balcony of the White Castle; he leaned forwards, leaning over the bar and peering down at the ground below him. The wind picked up slightly, ruffling his hair, and he closed his eyes, thinking.

They had not found Alice—the White Rabbit had disappeared off on his own, and the Mad Hatter had vanished not soon after. He had then taken his leave, trapping the Dormouse in a teapot and walking briskly towards the White Castle; the White Queen had not been able to see him, due to the fact that she was entertaining a guest, but that didn't matter. He hadn't wanted to see her. He had bowed and left, climbing up spiralling staircase after staircase, until he had found the highest room.

And now, he had found some sort of peace.

He sighed, thinking of other things; his mind strayed to his siblings, as it usually did. He couldn't remember their faces, not properly—the monster inside of him made their images blurry and distorted. He crossed his arms, straightening and frowning as he did so; he had not heard from them in months. In fact, after the last Alice had died, his siblings had disappeared.

His sister, Temari.

His brother, Kankuro.

He… he barely remembered their names, let alone their faces. He pressed his hands against his forehead, listening carefully—the thing inside of him was whispering, as usual, but he couldn't quite make out the taunts. He always listened, waiting for it to slip up. Waiting for it to tell him what had happened.

What he'd done.

What _had_ he done?

He let out a low groan of despair. The voice, it had a name—and, once, long before, at the Institute, he had once known its name. He had whispered its name, and it had given him _power_; because he could then _control. _If he knew the beast's name, the whisperings would quiet and it would be tamed.

He would _win—_and he would find his siblings.

_("what are you thinking about, kid?")_

Gaara frowned, before shrugging one shoulder. It couldn't do any harm—after all, the beast already _knew_ what he was thinking about; what he was remembering. Even so, it was probably lonely. It wanted to _talk._ If he had been anyone else, he would have found the idea amusing at the least; but he wasn't anyone else. He was the March Hare, and he had to deal with that voice every single day of every single week.

He didn't respond.

_("you usually bitch and whine and beg me to tell you about your siblings, don't you, so what's up, what's a-happening, c'mon, tell you old friend.")_

"…I was remembering."

_("oh, remembering what? no, don't tell me, i know; you're remembering that time, and trust me, it'll never happen again. i control you, gaara, and it will never be the other way around. i choose what you remember, what you forget. you can't beat me.")_

"I can't."

_("that's right.")_

"Of course."

He would have rolled his eyes, but that would have been uncharacteristic of him. Instead, he moved back towards the edge of the balcony, leaning over as far as he could. He peered at the ground below him, gazing at the ink-spots below him—the bushes and the flowers and the people. He stared off to the west, where the tea party was, and wondered if the Dormouse had escaped his teapot prison yet.

He chuckled, despite himself; knowing how lazy the mouse was, the answer was a no.

He balled his fists, watching as his knuckles turned white—and then he smiled. An actual, proper smile; not a smirk, or a sneer. It was a smile.

"I'll find them."

And he knew he would.

His mind strayed to his father, and he chuckled again.

"And I'll _kill_ that bastard."

**.**

**.**

The Dormouse yawned and stretched, curling up inside the teapot—he would never tell Gaara, but he quite enjoyed being inside the teapot now. It was warm and cosy; a thin stream of light spilled through the spout but, other than that, he was in complete darkness.

It was nice.

His thoughts strayed back to the March Hare, and he frowned, furrowing his brow. He didn't understand; normally, the Hare was entirely impassive; usually, it took him some time to judge whether or not the guy was even _happy. _But now… Now, he could read the other like a book, and he didn't like it. He could see the disappointment and anger and guilt spilling across the redhead's usually blank mask—and, deep within the turquoise eyes, he could see fear.

That was enough to scare Shikamaru.

He heaved a sigh, burrowing his head in his hands and closing his eyes. Something troublesome was going on…

And it would no doubt affect them all.

**.**

**.**

The White Queen brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes, watching as the Queen of Hearts paced backwards and forwards; she was breathless stood in front of him. Whenever he visited, she felt things she had never felt around the White Rabbit—it wasn't love. No, she was terrified of him; so scared.

But…

He was _beautiful._

He turned, as if sensing her thoughts, and fixed her with a piercing gaze; his eyes were black as the night sky itself, and they seemed to swallow her whole. She had never quite seen eyes like them. She released a breath she did not know she'd been holding, and bowed her head, instantly submissive; he had that affect on her.

"Your Majesty…" He trailed off, reaching a hand out to her. "No, _Hinata. _You have done well. With your help, I shall restore order to the chaos that is Wonderland."

She accepted his hand, resisting the urge to curtsey—he was so _powerful. _She felt a shiver run through her body, but she ignored it, letting him lead her towards the window. She opened it, leaning against the bar and gazing out across the land she ruled—no, the land _they _ruled. She felt him lean over her shoulder; his breath was hot on the back of her neck, and his body was practically pressed against her. She felt thrill surge through her, and heat rise to her cheeks, but she squashed the emotion.

"You'll keep your side of the deal, won't you, Hinata?"

She nodded, and as she opened her mouth to answer, she knew she was going to stutter. "O—of course, your Majesty."

He chuckled lowly, waving a hand. "_Please, _Hinata—I thought we were past that."

She nodded again, bowing her head in a hasty apology. "I'm sorry, I just f—forget," she mumbled, before pausing, giving herself enough time to regain her composure and clear her head. "I will keep my side of the deal. It is my oath to you…"

She turned, gazing into his eyes—and his lips quirked into a smile, as his arms enveloped her. She pressed herself against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, so irrevocably in love, but thinking only of her blue-eyed, blonde-haired saviour. She quenched the feeling, closing her eyes and feeling her eyelashes against the tops of her cheeks. Her voice was breathy as she spoke his name.

"…_Itachi."_

**.**

**.**

_(and his eyes looked out over wonderland, as he held her close—but he felt nothing, because he was a monster. he could only be a monster. he had killed his father for this—killed his mother—broken his siblings. he had lost everything for this, but he could not die. and this girl—this fragile feeble girl—she would lead him to alice._

_and he would win, again._

_he chuckled lowly, breathing in her shampoo but feeling nothing. but he knew how confused he made her, and that was perfect. everything was perfect. that man would not beat him; he would not fall, for that man's gain. he was going to live, and keep on living._

_he was going to win.)_

**.**

**.**

**just like chess.**

The Caterpillar closed his eyes, leaning against the trunk of an old oak tree, and slipped his little orange book back into his pocket. He picked up his pipe and pressed it between his lips, taking a small puff and slipping into a dreamy haze. He opened his eyes then, gazing down at the little cottage—he watched as the door swung open and Alice stepped out, smiling and waving. He watched the Duchess fling her arms around the smaller girl's neck—he watched as she turned and walked back down the path. He watched and he waited, as he always did; he was, after all, just a simple mercenary.

He smiled slowly.

"And all the pieces fall into place."

* * *

**notes**2**:** please, don't take it as concrete that itachi is _really_ the queen of hearts! he _is _very good at being evil, after all, so he could just be tricking her (and you guys).


	7. six: this used to be a funhouse

**project: **masquerade  
**disclaimer: **i do not own naruto, or the characters in it, or wonderland.  
**chapter: **six: this used to be a funhouse, sings the queen of hearts, but we shan't dwell on the past

**notes**1**: **so, here it is! it's been a while, ha. ;)  
**notes**2**: **i have started _way_ too many new fanfics, i've been neglecting this baby. D:

**

* * *

**

"we really ought to spiral out of control, alice.  
i'm sure you'd

_enjoy_

it," the (fake) queen murmured, as he gazed out at wonderland, the white queen pressing her fingers together as she peered at him — but he ignored her, choosing instead to open the glass windows and step out onto the balcony, where he stared out at the trees and wondered where they were hiding alice now.

behind him, the white queen thought of how easy it would be just to _push_ him, but she knew she could never quite do it. oh no, that would be truly _awful_ of her, how terrible, and she just couldn't do it, not for her beloved rabbit, oh no, oh no, oh _no._

so she let the (fake) queen stand where he was, and she bowed her head in shame, inky-blue hair falling in front of her face, framing her, and her eyes, her _eyes_, her white white _white_ eyes, as pure as snow, innocent, but _not_, were troubled. sad. she would betray them all. she _had_ betrayed them all.

oh.

and, in front of her, the (fake) queen sighed.

"_Oh, Alice…"_

**.**

**.**

take me out of _here_, sakura whispers.  
and help me

_escape._

**.**

**.**

Elsewhere, the Mad Hatter raised his head, a frown ghosting across his features as he stared in the direction of the White Castle — beside him, the Dormouse looked across at him, an eyebrow raised. They both stood in silence, Sasuke with his hands by his side, Shikamaru perched inside a teacup, where the March Hare had abandoned him before disappearing into the forests around them.

The Hatter's tea party table felt ever so chilling.

"…Hatter — no, _Sasuke_ — is something…" He trailed off, as the other turned his head ever so slightly, stare moving to Shikamaru. "…_wrong…"_

His eyes were carefully blank, each one empty, as cold as the night. He stood still — too still — like he wasn't even alive anymore, and his eyes certainly seemed to turn that into a fact; and something was bubbling beneath the surface, Shikamaru could feel it prickling his skin. It felt like anger, surging from the still boy in waves, unrelenting and painful and _cruel. _The Dormouse fell silent, as the Hatter gazed at him — and then his gaze returned to the Castle, and he tilted his head, black hair falling across his face.

"You know," Sasuke spoke, carefully, quietly. "I think I can _feel_ him."

The Dormouse ventured a response. "…_who?"_

And then, perhaps most frighteningly of all, the Hatter's lips split into a wide, insane grin — lips stretched to an unimaginable length — eyes sparkling with something vibrant and spicy and _wrong_ — and the Dormouse wanted Alice to hurry back, because she was the only one who would be able to stop him, when he became like this — oh, he had _seen_ how they saw each other, he had _seen _it — and if the Hatter went off on a killing spree now, then it would all go to _hell._

The Hatter spoke.

"_Brother."_

**.**

**.**

**the red brick coffee house**

21:39:01

A bell jangled, and the door swung open.

Kiba stepped inside, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather coat; he glanced around, briefly, checking to see if there was any worker still inside, and his eyes fell upon the booth at the very end. A candle was flickering on the table, just like before, and he saw a shadowed figure sitting in the darkness, fingers linked as his hands rested on the table top. He turned, then, beckoning for his companion to follow him in — and Ino stepped in after him, all spotted socks and short skirts and long blonde hair.

She glanced up at him, following his gaze until her eyes rested on Neji, sat in the corner, and she wrinkled her nose slightly. "What kind of _weirdo_ sits in the _dark_," she murmured, keeping her voice hushed as they made their way over to the other, "I mean, _seriously. _I bet he's one of those greasy-haired _creeps_, who spends his time looking up conspiracy theories and jacking off to cartoon porn."

Kiba snickered.

"It's just _creepy_," Ino continued, before falling silent, as they came to a stop.

Neji glanced up at them, before beckoning for them both to sit — they did so, and Kiba took the opportunity to scan the other's features again. He seemed better, less sickly than last time, and he wore black-framed glasses on the end of his nose — still, the bags beneath his eyes were heavier, darker, and his hand was resting firmly on a brown paper package. He caught sight of a name, and his eyes widened, and then the envelope was swept out of sight, hidden beneath the table — Kiba glanced upwards, eyes meeting Neji's.

"That said Sasuke's name on it."

Neji's eyes were amused. "It did."

There was a moment of silence, in which the pair of them stared at each other. That envelope _was _related to all of this, Kiba was sure of it — otherwise, why would Neji bring it? No, he _had_ to know. His eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, and he was aware of Ino glancing between them, eyebrows raised as her expression turned from one of confusion to that of curiosity. He ignored her, scanning Neji's features for some sort of explanation, but the boy's face was carefully blank.

The Hyuuga stood up.

"Would you like a drink, miss?" Neji murmured, tilting his head towards Ino, but his eyes never left Kiba's face; Ino blinked, eyes widening a fraction, and then her cheeks turned pink and she nodded bashfully, eyelashes fluttering.

Kiba rolled his eyes.

Neji seemed to think nothing of it, as he ducked his head once in reply, before walking away, disappearing through the doors to the kitchen — they heard his footsteps for a moment, and the clatter of cups hitting saucers, and Ino moved her head towards Kiba's, biting her lip slightly, the corner of her lips pulling upwards. "Jeez, Kiba, you never told me he was _hot," _she murmured, and he was aware of her breath touching his cheek — they were too close.

He moved away, rolling his eyes once again. "You're such a whore."

"Hey, I'm only window shopping, idiot," Ino flashed him a candy-girl grin, before nudging him with her elbow. "If I didn't know you any better — and I_ don't_ — I'd say you were jealous."

He didn't even bother replying.

Neji strode back in, carrying two gently steaming cups and a can of something fizzy — he threw the latter to Kiba, under-arm, who caught it easily, and then watched as he placed one of the two cups down in front of Ino. It looked like hot chocolate — light brown, with a thin layer of something creamy — and steam curled up from it in thin wisps. She dipped forwards, murmuring her thanks, before taking a sip, eyes never leaving Neji's face; his lips tugged into a smirk, as she ran her tongue around the rim of the cup, and Kiba snorted again.

"The envelope, Neji," he prompted, and the Hyuuga turned to face him, expression blank for a moment, before the same smirk skirted across his lips.

"Patience, Inuzuka," he replied, easily, "You need to learn to let events play out as they will."

He dipped forwards, glasses slipping down his nose, as he took a sip from his drink; and then, ever so carefully, he slipped the package back onto the table, pushing it over to Kiba. Their eyes met — stark, striking white versus warm, oak brown — and then Kiba's fingers closed around the envelope, and he snatched it towards his chest, ripping it open. Dimly, distantly, he was aware of Neji leaning backwards, eyes closing, a small smile flickering across his lips, before he spoke. "As you are no doubt aware, Tenten was… well, for lack of better words, she was _deeply_ involved — and I am entirely sure Uchiha Sasuke was her murderer, and so I began to… dig around."

He fell silent.

Kiba emptied the contents of the envelope onto the table — mostly papers, he thought, with the occasional photograph, and a small, wrapped package — and his eyes flickered up to scan Neji's features. The boy's expression was blank. His eyes were still closed. But his posture was rigid, tense, and he was too still. He glanced down at the sheets of paper, brow furrowing, and then gazed back up at the Hyuuga.

"If Sasuke truly is a killer, then why the _hell_ are you doing this? Do you even _understand_ who dangerous this is?" He snapped, unable to help himself. "You don't _have_ to be part of this, not like Sakura, not like—"

"—not like _you?"_ Neji quirked an eyebrow, eyes flickering open, lips stretching into an amused smirk. "Stop acting like the righteous hero, Inuzuka — I am every bit a part of this as _you _are. And if you believe I am _not_ a part of this, then simply turn and have a glance at yourself, Inuzuka, or the girl you've brought with you."

Kiba narrowed his eyes. "You could have walked away. You still _have_ that option."

"As do _you,_" the Hyuuga shot back, before letting out a resigned sigh, "And I cannot do it, for the exact reasons _you _cannot do it — because that would be betraying _her. _Your Sakura, _my_ Tenten — it would be a betrayal."

He stood up then, dusting himself down, his drink — tea, from the looks of it; Neji seemed like a tea sort of person — practically full; then he dipped his head down, reaching across the table for Ino's hand. She blinked, eyes widening before blushing bashfully — an _act!_ Kiba's head roared — and shook his hand gently. "It was nice meeting you, miss…?" He trailed off, eyes widening ever so slightly, and then he frowned ever so slightly. "I don't think I ever asked your name. I apologise."

"Apology _accepted_," Ino practically purred. "You can call me _single."_

Neji's eyes turned blank, and he pulled his hand back, tucking it into his pocket and turning away ever so slightly. "You can call me _not interested_," he replied, before waving airily with his other hand, and heading off towards the exit. Ino managed to wait until his footsteps receded, and the door closed gently shut, the bell jingling softly, before exploding.

"_He_ rejected _me? _Blasphemy, I say! My powers of seduction are _unwavering. _They cannot be _resisted."_

Kiba rolled his eyes.

"Apparently, they _can."_

"No, they _can't,_" Ino snapped, watching as he swept the contents of the envelope back into the packet, straightening his jacket and standing up — she followed, hands followed over her chest as she scowled. "He _can't_ reject me. That's just — ugh, that's just _ridiculous."_

The other snorted.

"Oh no — a wild Neji appears. Ino uses powers of seduction. It's ineffective. Neji uses _rejection. _It's a critical hit."

Ino fumed.

"Was that a _Pokémon _joke?"

**.**

**.**

**buzz.**

The Wasp watched, through shielded, shadow-glass eyes, his arms crossed over his chest as he peered down at the people below. He was never part of anything — he was always _apart_ — and he would never _be_ a part of anything. No, he was the _watcher_; the wasp, buzz-buzz-buzzing around, because they _needed_ a wasp.

The wind tugged at his coat, ferocious, furious — and, from his height, he felt like a superhero, just for a second. He was interwoven with each and every thread of life — he was their informer, their watcher, their helper. Inuzuka Kiba — Hyuuga Neji — Haruno Sakura — Uchiha _Sasuke_; he watched over them all.

He was the Wasp.

**.**

**.**

follow me _down_

**.**

**.**

**wonderland.**

"Where are we _going?"_

Sakura's question was met with silence, and she crossed her arms over her chest, brow furrowing ever so slightly. He was ignoring her, striding along ahead, red hair blowing softly in the wind — and the March Hare glanced back at her once, through turquoise, before turning away. She sighed, wrapping her arms around her chest, and trekking steadily after him; as far as she was aware, the Hatter's tea party was in the _opposite_ direction, and the White Castle was even further away.

It was only when she heard the footsteps behind her that she thought she had an inkling of where she was. She hurried up, ever so slightly, catching up with Gaara, so that they were walking side by side — and she couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder, eyes widening as the figure stepped out from the bushes. His head was bowed, and his silver hair shone in the sunlight, and he was carrying that little orange book in one hand, a pipe in the other. He glanced up at her, smiled, and then waved cheerily.

"Ah, Alice-chan — how nice to see you again," the Caterpillar spoke and, beside her, the March Hare quite abruptly stopped. "And you've brought along a friend, how wonderful. Tell me, are you also stopping by the Duchess' house for soup?"

"No, not this—"

"—_yes_," Gaara murmured, cutting firmly across her. "In fact, _Caterpillar_," and he spat the name, as if it were something filthy, to which the Caterpillar merely replied with a little grin, hidden beneath his polo neck jumper, "we'd be much inclined if you could take us there."

"Oh? How odd, little rabbit, that you should want _me_ to help _you_," the silver-haired man drawled, the grin never leaving his face, as he strode over to them. "But weren't you so certain that I was, in fact, a _spy_, working for the Red Queen, and will go and report every little thing you say to me now to _him? _Or perhaps you've realised how _paranoid_ you are."

"I am _not _a rabbit."

Sakura rolled her eyes. "Of course you'd get hung up on _that_ point."

Turquoise eyes turned to face her, and he tilted his head ever so slightly, messy ears stuck bolt upright as he frowned. "You would not like it if I were to call you Alice, when you are undoubtedly Sakura — and, likewise, Alice would be awfully angry if I were to call her Sakura. As there is a _great_ difference between an Alice and a Sakura, there is _also_ a great difference between a rabbit and a hare."

He snorted.

"Besides," he continued, eyes narrowing further, "I am nothing like that _rabbit."_

Sakura was about to retort — because _really_, he was being absolutely _silly_, and _what_ was wrong with Naruto, might she ask? — but the Caterpillar cleared his throat softly, and Gaara's head swivelled around to face him. There was a moment of silence, in which the two stared at each other — and Sakura could practically see the cogs whirring behind Gaara's sea-green eyes, and she found herself tensing, fingers stretching towards the weapon tucked into the folds of her dress. Then the Caterpillar smiled, chuckling softly, shaking his head.

"We were going to see the Duchess, Mr Ra—Mr _Hare_," he corrected, and Gaara bristled beside her at the obvious, purposeful mistake, "While I am quite certain you'll be able to keep up with my speed — what with your powerful legs, no doubt — I am afraid Alice — no, what was it you called her? _Sakura_-chan — won't be able to."

The March Hare's eyes narrowed.

"I trust you have a remedy for that, then, oh _wise_ Caterpillar."

"No doubt I _do_," the Caterpillar retorted, before turning to Sakura, smiling ever so slightly. "Sakura has already rode by back once before. I highly doubt it was as comfortable as riding by hat, but, what can I say? She will have to settle for piggy-back."

Sakura's gaze flickered briefly to Gaara, who nodded his head ever so slightly. She stepped forwards, and the Caterpillar turned away, tucking his book into the waistband of his trousers, and crouching ever so slightly. She laced her arms around his neck, pushed off the ground, and wrapped her legs around his back — he shifted, ever so slightly, so that she was holding on more comfortably, and then he turned to face the March Hare, an eyebrow raised, lips tugged into a smirk behind the bit of jumper he'd pulled over his face. The badges — each pinned carefully onto his tailcoat — glittered in the light.

"Should we begin running, little rabbit?"

Gaara's eyes narrowed, "Call me rabbit _again_, and you'll be running _from_ me."

There was a soft chuckle — and that was the only warning Sakura received, before they were both tearing through the air, and she found herself pressed flat against the Caterpillar's back, clutching his neck in an attempt to keep hold. Trees and branches and leaves whipped at her face, tugging at her, trying to loosen her grip — and she squeezed her eyes shut, because they were dangerously near to hitting that tree trunk, and she couldn't quite take all of this… _movement. _The speed was a bit too much.

And, through it all, she heard the soft chuckling of the Caterpillar.

**.**

**.**

run rabbit run rabbit run run _run_  
gonna get you  
get you

run rabbit run rabbit  
run  
run

_run_

**.**

**.**

Naruto pressed his back against the bark of the tree trunk, eyes wide with panic, and he tried to be as still — as small — as possible. His ears, which usually stood ramrod straight, flopped downwards, pressed against his head; but, other than them, he was completely rigid. He slid ever so slowly, ever so carefully, down the tree, into a sitting position, careful not to let his feet rustle any of the leaves across the ground — careful not to snap any sticks, or the like. No, this was awfully _dangerous._

He reached gingerly for his pocket watch, with one trembling hand; he flipped it open, checked the time, let out a soft, stifled sigh of relief; he had time. He wasn't late _yet. _He had been on his way to the Mad Hatter's tea party — as he usually was — when, all of a sudden, he had become quite aware of a group of people crossing his path; usually, he would have continued onwards, passing them with a polite nod — but that was before they'd found Alice, when everything had been relatively _safe. _Now, though, was a completely different matter, and upon recognising the strained voice of a frustrated Knave, he had frozen.

Like a rabbit caught in headlights.

Oh, the _irony._

Above him, the wind changed direction and the leaves rustled — _and a barely concealed grin began to fade into view _— but Naruto paid no attention. He tilted his head, ever so slightly, towards the left, in an attempt to hear what was going on a bit better. Someone — the Knave or one of his knights, presumably — stepped forwards, slowly, one two three, and the White Rabbit flinched backwards. Oh, he was in quite the _awful _position.

"The Hatter is around here somewhere," the Knave spoke, and Naruto was quite certain it was the Knave — that misleadingly gentle voice, coupled with something like disgust at having to speak the Hatter's name, "And, with him, undoubtedly, _Alice. _Be on the lookout for traitors._"_

"Yes _sir,_" came the chorus of replies — he managed to distinguish three different voices, and possibly a forth, but, still, that was hardly enough; because Naruto felt as if the entire forest around him was _filled_ with those worshiping the Red Queen, those who would rather they remained in Wonderland forever, instead of finally becoming _free._

He shuddered.

"We will be meeting the Jabberwocky," and, at this, his blood ran cold and he began to shake and he found it hard to even _breathe, _"So let's offer him a treat, shall we? Something crunchy — _juicy_ — to feast upon — something which dresses in frilly petticoats and striped socks — something which tastes a lot like _Alice_."

"Yes _sir_," they chorused, and then there was the sound of footsteps, of people moving away, and, at that moment, Naruto's breathing grew laboured, and he clambered hastily, but silently, to his feet — it was also at that moment, just by chance, that he happened to look up; that his eyes happened to flicker towards the sky, just at that moment, and he found himself gazing into the mismatched eyes of the Cheshire Cat.

"Boo," the Cat's smile widened, "I _see _you."

"Ch—Cheshire Cat!" Naruto yelped, before lowering his voice to a whisper, ears twitching frantically, the only way the Cat could see his distress, "I can't — I can't _do_ this, not right now. I need to get away! I need to—"

The Cat quirked his head. He was lying down, one arm draped over the thick tree branch he was resting on, the other placed beneath his head, and his legs were kicking — one, two, three, one, two, three — as he gazed down at the White Rabbit. And as the White Rabbit gazed up at him, he noticed there were certain things different about the Cheshire Cat — the certain things which had caused him to stop rambling and start staring — and they horrified the little Rabbit. The mismatched eyes were filled with _nothing_ — no glimmer, no mischief, just _nothing_ — and his smile was fake — well, perhaps, faker than before; as if he were having to force himself to smile, and the Cheshire Cat very rarely did that.

His face seemed to fall _naturally_ into a smile.

But, perhaps worst of all, was the black collar strapped around the other's neck — with the single silver bell, ironic, positioned directly in the middle of the collar — and that collar forced Naruto's feet into action, and he began to _run_, as fast as he could.

((behind him, the cheshire cat faded swiftly into nothing))

He ignored it, choosing instead to run — and, almost immediately, there came the shouts, and he was quite certain he was being chased. Still, none had _ever_ managed to catch the White Rabbit; he was the fastest being in all of Wonderland, though, perhaps, definitely not quite the strongest — only the Mad Hatter was able to meet his pace, and he wasn't being chased by the Hatter. No, he was quite certain he could get away, and so he let a smile break out across his face, let his blue eyes sparkle with joy, and let himself enjoy the race — for _itself._

He dodged around a tree trunk, his fingers pressing briefly against it as he pushed himself away, and ducked beneath a withered old branch — he leapt over a deer, who was busy lapping water up from a trickling little stream, and he pushed himself up into the air, leaping easily over a fallen tree. Behind him, he heard the shouts grow quieter, heard the footsteps recede — all except _one._

And those footsteps were catching _up._

His eyes grew wide, and he attempted to glance back over his shoulder — he could see nothing, no one, and he wondered, briefly, if it were the Cheshire Cat, playing games with his mind as he raced for his freedom. But he was uncertain.

Unsure.

It could be _anyone._

The Knave.

The Cheshire Cat.

The Ja—

No, it was far too awful to say. He let the thought fade away — although it never quite disappeared — and focused entirely on getting to safety. Naruto realised, blankly, that he had passed the Hatter's tea party — how _foolish_ of him — and had continued running; he'd gotten caught up in the excitement, no doubt, and hadn't quite told his feet to _stop._ No, his next safe place would be the White Castle, and so he put on a burst of speed, his ears lying flat against his head as he did so, and slid beneath branches and ivy and the like.

Behind him, rather abruptly, the footsteps slowed down.

The White Rabbit let out a whoop of joy, broke through the final ring of trees, and collided with something — some_one._ His eyes flickered upwards; they widened, and he scrambled backwards, shuffling towards what he hoped was safety — he'd seen red eyes — _crimson_ eyes — the colour of _blood_ — and he had _heard_ of those eyes, time and time and time and time and _time_ again. Oh, he was panicking — panicking — this was insane — _insane_ — and oh God, could he—?

_((the jabberwock, the jabberwock, the jib-jab-jib-jab-JABBERWOCKY))_

His back bumped into something — legs, from the feel of it, and he glanced backwards, over his shoulder — his eyes met the grey eyes of the Knave of Hearts, dull behind his glasses, and Naruto felt his heart sink.

In front of him, the man — he couldn't say it, no, it was too _horrifying_ to think about — _the Jabberwocky_ — stepped forwards, gesturing briefly to Naruto. "What is _this_, Knave — this… _disturbance?_"

"Ah, I apologise," the Knave replied, ducking his head, "If I had realised you were doing business, I wouldn't have chased him all the way to you."

It was at that point — at the mention of _business_ — that Naruto noticed the figure stood just a few feet away from the Jabberwocky, her hands clasped to her chest, her eyes wide and ashamed and _sad. _His own eyes widened — his mouth fell open — and he gazed at the White Queen — _his_ beloved Queen — and found that he couldn't even think of the words. She mouthed something to him. It might have been the word sorry. A tear trickled down her cheek, white dress and inky-blue hair flowing as she span away, and she turned her back on him.

_Turned her back on him._

"If you chased him to _me_," the Jabberwocky spoke, finally, after much consideration, and the White Rabbit found that he couldn't look up — couldn't do _anything_ — except sit and tremble, "Then you surely must want me to kill him."

"As kind as putting the frightened little rabbit out of his misery would be," the Knave replied, smoothly, "It would be far better for us if we were to take him to the Queen first — weasel out of him what we can — and use him to find Alice. Then, of course, the minute he begins to fade — begins to _escape…"_

The Knave trailed off.

It was then that a hand closed around his arm, and he was hauled to his feet; absently, his fingers fumbled for his golden pocket watch, and he checked the time. He was late. Awfully late. He was _always_ late. He would be late again. He wondered if Alice would notice — no, if _Sakura_ would notice — if _Sasuke_ would notice. He hoped he wouldn't get worked up into that awful rage he sometimes had; because only the White Rabbit could match the Hatter's cunning and speed. Perhaps not his strength, but he certainly bested him in courage and enthusiasm.

Ha.

What trivial things to be thinking about.

After all, he was being led to his death.

**.**

**.**

The Caterpillar came to a halt, finally, outside the small cottage — with the red bricks and the thatched roof —, crouching down ever so slightly that Sakura could slip off his back. Beside them, just a moment later, the March Hare skidded to a halt, button-up shirt unruffled as he gazed blankly at them; for a fraction of a second, he remained where he was — then, easily as, he turned and knocked upon the crimson red door, thin scratches slashed into the wood where a beast had tore angrily at the door.

It opened.

A friendly-faced boy, with hair the colour of copper and oranges and sunsets, peered out at them, amber eyes uncomprehending for a fraction of a second, before widening with recognition, and his face split out into a grin. "Oh! Alice-chan! And Kakashi, and the March Hare! What a, uhm, _wonderful _surprise."

"Tweedle Dee," Gaara responded, nodding once, "May we come in?"

"Of course, of course — it would be rude for me to leave you just _standing_ there. Please," he gestured past him, stepping to the side and holding the door open; it was then that Sakura realised his left arm was in a sling, bandaged with black-and-white striped material, and she bit her lip. Had _she_ done that, with her gun, the last time she'd gone to visit the Duchess — when that monster — that _boy_, stood holding the door open, like a true _gentleman_ — had torn through the forest after her, snarling and growling and longing for _blood? _

And the mysterious man behind her — the Caterpillar — his name was Kakashi? He stepped around her, smiling behind his polo-neck jumper, before slipping past Juugo and into the Duchess' cottage. The gentleman holding the door open for her smiled, and her eyes flickered involuntarily to his wound — he glanced down at it as well, before shrugging, still smiling, never stopping. "Things happen, Alice-chan. I should _never_ have snapped at _you."_

"That's not an excuse—!"

"—ah, but it _is. _No one should harm Alice; not I, nor Suigetsu, nor Karin, nor that _mad_ Cat — nor the Queen and her followers — nor the dreadful Jabberwocky — nor the Hatter and his merry men — and nor my _lost_ brother, Tweedle Dum."

Juugo seemed to think, for a second.

"If my brother were ever to harm you, Alice, I would be awfully mad. I think I would turn into that beast again. I think I would kill him."

Sakura's eyes widened, and Juugo merely smiled — and although she found his words horrifying, terrifying, _awful_, she knew he meant only the best. His intentions were pure. He hadn't meant to attack her, oh no, and he didn't mean to scare her — no, he only wanted to hold the door open for her, and smile for her, and keep her as safe as he possibly could. She could tell from his eyes — he was the sort of person who _protected_ — who _defended_ — and she wanted him to protect and defend her, just as he protected the Duchess — just as he defended the Mock Turtle.

He stretched a hand out to her.

She returned his smile.

"Call me Sakura, _please._"

Their hands met.

His smile widened.

"Do you trust me, Sakura-chan?"

Maybe it was Juugo who finally pushed her over the edge — with his gentlemanly ways and his unfathomable _kindness_ — who finally forced her hand. Perhaps it was him, with his sunset-coloured hair and his gentle features, who finally made her decide — between running around in circles, cowering with her tail tucked between her legs, or standing clear and strong. In fact, when she thought about it, as she gazed at his face, it was only suitable that she finally _fought_, here in Wonderland — she had already made her move, in a way, back in the real world — she had killed Sasori.

His eyes still haunted her dreams — tired and _broken_.

No, Juugo was offering her a decision, whether he realised it or not — turn her back on those who needed her; the Hatter, her darling Rabbit, the March Hare, the Dormouse and all the occupants of Wonderland who were _counting _on her; or _act._

It was time to act.

Her lips pulled into a smile, as she replied, allowing Juugo to steer her inside the cottage, door sliding shut behind them. "Of _course_. How can I _not_ trust you? Everyone here — everyone I know — is faithfully protecting me; and it is about time I fought in return. After all, you cannot win a war if everyone simply _defends_ — it is high time we _attacked._"

"Well said, Sakura-chan," came a giggling voice from her right, and both she and Juugo turned — the latter with a huge smile plastered across his face — to gaze into the kitchen; there, at the table, sat Karin, hands laced together as she smiled at Sakura with her crimson lips, "But pretty speeches are one thing — prettier actions are altogether a different matter."

"I'm sure Alice — no, _Sakura_ — is fully aware of that," Kakashi murmured, his eyes half-lidded, a bowl of soup placed directly in front of him — it was orange, this time, and smelt like pumpkins; but there was still that scent of _pepper_, hanging thickly in the air, like smoke, "The last Alice led us into battle most gloriously. It is merely a shame that she died—"

"—and that _you_ were on the _opposing_ side, perhaps?" Gaara spat.

Kakashi merely hummed his response, choosing instead to close his eyes. The March Hare didn't continue, sneaking instead a sideways glance at the Caterpillar, a scowl smudged across his face — but his eyes soon flickered back to Sakura, watching as she entered the room, Juugo by her side. She noticed Suigetsu leaning against the kitchen counter, and he offered her a dry mock salute as she entered, smiling slightly; he nodded his head slightly towards the only spare chair, and she smiled gratefully, slipping into her seat.

Her eyes met those of the March Hare.

"I'm confused—"

"—and we're off to a _brilliant_ start," the Duchess chimed, cutting across Alice — Sakura shot her a glare, brow furrowed, before she turned back to Gaara, who looked ever so slightly amused.

"I'm confused as to why we're _here_," she continued, as though Karin had never interrupted, "And as to why the Mad Hatter is not with us."

Gaara seemed to consider her words coolly, before replying instantly. "We are here, Sakura, because the Duchess was the last person to have access to the Queen of Hearts' castle. She and her two comrades, the Mock Turtle and Tweedle Dee, are the only of your loyal followers to have had recent access to the Red Castle — they will most surely know where the Vorpal blade was kept; and I'm sure all three of them would be _more_ than willing to offer their knowledge to us. Of course, Alice, we must not take _anything_ they say as concrete, for not only were they once comrades of the Queen of Hearts', and therefore wore only red, but he has no doubt made many changes to his castle since then, for fear of their… treachery."

"Psh," Karin scoffed, flapping a hand, "_Must_ you be so _paranoid_?"

"I apologise," Gaara murmured, but his features were blank, and it was quite obvious that he was indifferent to her question, "And to answer your second question, Sakura, the Mad Hatter — Sasuke — _was_ asked to come. In fact, I asked him myself. I feel as though it should be _him_ sat here, discussing this with you — he is, or was, or will be, your right hand man, after all — but he refused. He told me he was waiting for someone. And that the White Rabbit was surprisingly late. If it makes you feel any better, Alice, I shall be informing him of everything we have discussed."

Sakura nodded, once, before her brow furrowed, and she held up a hand. "Woah, hold _up. _Did you say 'vorpal'?"

Gaara nodded.

"That's not even a _word._"

"Ah, but it _is_, Sakura-chan," Kakashi interrupted, just as Gaara opened his mouth to respond — the March Hare frowned, glanced at the bowl of soup as though he'd like nothing more than to fling it across at the wall opposite, and then clasped his hands in his lap, letting the Caterpillar take over. "The Vorpal sword was crafted when the Game first began, no doubt by the Gateway; it is said to be entirely transparent, as if made of glass, with a single pure black jewel welded into the hilt. It is the strongest sword in _all _of Wonderland. It is said to be the only thing capable of killing the Jabberwocky, who is, for lack of better words, the Queen's personal _slave _stroke guard — an angry _dog, _if you ask me, barking frantically at those who wish to stroke it. Or slay it. The Queen of Hearts apparently never lets it leave his grasp; which, I shall confirm, is entirely true. The Queen trusted me to be his right-hand man, second only to the Knave, and I never once saw the Vorpal blade."

"_You_ worked for the Queen of Hearts?"

He nodded. "But don't you just _love_ a good plot twist? After all, the Queen never saw it coming — I suppose I played my part extremely well."

"That is precisely why he _cannot be trusted_," Gaara said, blankly, the final three words turning into a hiss, and his eyes were filled with a simmering _something_; it reeked of pandemonium, of chaos, of _insanity, _and Sakura shuddered, despite the fact his eyes were not looking at her.

Kakashi's expression was calm, relaxed, a small smile hidden beneath his polo neck jumper, a twinkle in his eye. "You know, I agree with Karin. You _are_ paranoid."

Silence fell over the room, briefly, and Sakura bit her lip, frowning down at the table-top; the Vorpal sword seemed pretty important even if, to her, it seemed only slightly more useful than a normal sword. After all, besides all of that, _she_ couldn't use _any_ type of sword, Vorpal or not. No doubt that was a hurdle she would have to pass when she came to it — and no doubt she would pass that hurdle by slipping into her Alice personality. As useful as it was, it felt strangely like cheating.

It was dissatisfying.

Still, it _seemed_ important, especially to the people gathered around her. Her gaze flickered across to Juugo and Suigetsu, silent, simply watching — soldiers, she thought, awaiting their command —, and Juugo offered her a thumbs up. Suigetsu waved. She smiled in return, before she returned to looking at the three people gathered around her. The Duchess, with her crimson hair, and her bright, intelligent eyes, one eyebrow ever so slightly raised — the Caterpillar, a permanent amused expression plastered across his face as his lips tugged upwards into a small smile — and the March Hare, quiet, deadly, turquoise eyes oddly blank, and yet filled with _something_, reaching out for Sakura.

Begging for her to understand.

She thought she did.

"Alright," her face broke into a smile, and she clapped her hands together. "When do we start?"

Gaara rose to his feet; and so did Karin and Kakashi; and even Juugo and Suigetsu stood ram-rod straight, eyes fixed on her. All of them fell silent — and then their heads turned, one by one by one, to face Gaara, and all eyes were suddenly on him. He closed his own eyes, obviously thinking — carefully considering every little detail, tracing an intricate picture in his head, waiting for something to come to him.

He smirked.

"What better time to start, Sakura, than _now?"_

He glanced out of the window, at the fading sky, watching as light blue began to seep into darkness, and he peered in the general direction of the Mad Hatter's tea party. "We ought to get moving," the March Hare spoke, stepping forwards and breaking the stillness completely; his hand closed around Sakura's wrist.

"Or else we shall be terribly _late._"

**.**

**.**

_run rabbit run rabbit run run run_

**.**

**.**

**M**

**A**

**S**

**Q**

**U**

**E**

**R**

**A**

**D**

**E**

**.**

**.**

_if you go down to the woods today  
watch out for the dreaded jabberwocky_

**.**

**.**

"…it's getting _late_."

Shikamaru glanced up, ears twitching atop his head, tail flicking from side to side, as his eyes met those of the Mad Hatter. It _was _rather late — not in a literal sense, as the sun was still up, crawling slowly downwards through the sky — but, rather, where on _earth _was Sakura? Or Naruto? Or Gaara? His brow furrowed and he pulled himself sluggishly to his feet, still balancing within his tea cup — he took a step forwards, heaved himself out and over the top of the rim of the cup, and then walked slowly towards the Hatter, hands tucked into his pockets. He stared about him as he did so, ears flickering from side to side, searching for any noises, any rustles of movement.

After all, no sound can escape the ears of a mouse.

His eyebrows rose, ever so slightly, and he turned towards the left — he was distantly aware of the Hatter's own gaze flickering towards that direction. He tilted his head. "…how troublesome. I can _hear_ you, Cheshire Cat."

Sasuke's lips tugged into a smile.

"Come out and _play_, kitty-_cat."_

Almost as soon as the words had left Sasuke's mouth, a glimmering, shimmering smile began to appear, fading slowly into view, and Shikamaru found himself involuntarily taking a step backwards. Perhaps it was the teeth, but after meeting the Cheshire Cat — and after being shrunk to such a vulnerable size — he had found himself quite terrified of felines. He watched as a flicking tail appeared, as mismatched purple and black eyes seemed to appear out of nothing — he watched as the cunning cat materialized.

"I'd forgotten how _clever_ your ears were, little mouse," the Cat whispered, lips stretching into a thin, wide grin — and he suddenly swiped outwards, snatching Shikamaru's tail in one swift movement and raising him into the air, where he dangled rather helplessly — behind him, the Hatter stiffened, but didn't make any attempt to rescue his friend. "They're such a _nuisance. _I'd much rather you were _rid_ of them."

"Your humour hasn't changed, _cat_," Shikamaru replied, rolling his eyes, and he was pulled slightly higher, held up so that the Cheshire Cat was gazing up at him. "And you're _still_ not funny."

"Oh, I _resent _that."

The Dormouse frowned, gaze flickering briefly to Sasuke — who made no attempt to interject, obviously concluding that the threat was over, since he was leaning back in his chair, his hat tipped over his face — before looking back at the Cheshire Cat. "…what are you doing here?" He squinted, catching sight of a black leather collar and a silver bell. "And what is _that?"_

The Cheshire Cat quirked an eyebrow.

"What is _what_, little mouse?"

Shikamaru frowned, eyes meeting purple and black as he attempted to figure out whether the Cat was joking or not; but his eyes betrayed only curiosity, and so Shikamaru pointed down at the little silver bell. Instantly, the Cheshire Cat's fingers flew up to touch it, to fiddle with it, and it jingle-jangled, and his eyes narrowed in frustration and pure, unadulterated fury. Before the Dormouse could even truly comprehend what had happened, he was being flung through the air, tossed easily up above the Cheshire Cat's head and soaring, tumbling, pinwheeling down towards the wide, gaping mouth.

He only just managed to place his palms and feet on either side of the shiny white teeth, breathing heavily, before pushing upwards with his hands into a flip — a clawed, crooked hand snatched at where he had been just a moment before, and then Shikamaru landed with a crouch, on the bridge of the Cat's nose. "Annoying, _clambering_ mouse," the Cat hissed, hands swiping at Shikamaru once again — this time, the Dormouse only just barely managed to dive towards the ground, wishing that the March Hare hadn't stolen his tiny sword from him long ago.

He was free-falling.

Before he could land on the table — or potentially _miss_ the table; oh, how _awful_ that would have been —, a hand hooked beneath him, and he was being raised back up into the air, this time _away_ from the grinning Cat. He turned around, tail twitching from the shock of it all — oh shit, that bastard had tried to _eat_ him! — and gazed up into the eyes of the Mad Hatter; Sasuke peered down at him, blankly, before placing a second hand protectively in front of the boy, as claws swiped at the tiny figure.

"Cat," Sasuke murmured, eyes flickering up then, towards the Cheshire Cat — who was back to looking disinterested, inspecting his tail, bristling frostily, "If you attempt to eat the Dormouse again, I will cut off your tongue and pull out every single one of your shining _teeth."_

The Cheshire Cat grinned.

"Is that a _threat, _Hatter?"

"It's a promise."

Shikamaru prised apart the things, pushing the palm of Sasuke's hands upwards, so that he was stood once again facing the Cat — because enclosed spaces made him _drowsy_ and _sleepy_, and, besides, he _needed_ to know what was going on. He stretched his arms back behind his head, tail curling behind him, before pointing at the bell. "You've become a _slave_, cat. They've put a collar and a bell on your neck, and you're their _slave_ — their _pet,"_ Shikamaru's eyes narrowed. "_Why_ are you here, then, pet of the Red Queen?"

The Cheshire Cat bristled, once again, anger surging through him, "You can mock me _all_ you want, rodent, but I almost dined on _rat_ stew, tonight — and I will most _certainly_ be feasting upon _white rabbit_. If, of course, you catch my drift."

Shikamaru's eyes widened and, all of a sudden, he was thrown to the ground, where he landed sprawled across the table, crashing into tea cups and kettles; he watched as the Hatter lunged towards the Cat, eyes wide and cruel and _angry_ — but the Cat had already vanished, with a flick of his tail and a sweet smile. He'd disappeared, as easily as that, and all that was left was the jangling of a bell — jingle, jangle, jingle — but he hadn't reappeared, Shikamaru could _hear_ that. No, he was waiting and biding his time, hopping from place to place, far out of his hearing, before _reappearing._

"Boo, little mouse."

He sprang backwards, just as claws raked through the air where he had once been — and he was almost certain he was out of danger, when a purple tail suddenly snaked around his waist, and he was hauled into the air, kicking and scratching and cursing the March Hare, because that bastard had stolen his _sword. _The Hatter, meanwhile, twisted and lunged again — but the only person who is faster than time itself is the Cheshire Cat, and so he merely vanished, with his final words.

"We'll see you soon, Mr Hatter. The Jabberwocky and I are _waiting."_

With that, he was gone.

Leaving Sasuke stood at an empty table, breathing heavily, anger and rage and utter _fury_ plastered across his face, because his men were _gone_ — one by one, they had been _snatched_ from him — and he was very unhappy. Oh, he was quite _insane_ with unhappiness.

The White Rabbit was gone.

And now, so was the Dormouse.

**.**

**.**

They reached the Mad Hatter's tea party after what felt like only minutes of running, but was, in fact, at least an hour — the Caterpillar finished first, letting Sakura climb easily off his back, and then beckoning for her to go on ahead. She waited for just a moment, for the March Hare to arrive — because she was beginning to feel awfully safe, terribly _comfortable_, around him. When he did so, he glanced briefly at her, and his face suddenly turned stormy.

They could hear smashing glass.

"That's _my_ thing," the March Hare whispered lowly, his blank mask only just managing to betray the storm raging beneath, "They _can't _throw the tea cups. That's _my_ thing."

Sakura didn't reply because, all of a sudden, a terrible sense of foreboding had filled her; she glanced once behind her, wanting to make certain that her friends were still with her — and she could see that they too were all grim. Kakashi's face was terribly blank, his signature cheery smile slipping away from beneath his mask, and Karin's eyes were dark behind her glasses. Sakura realised, blankly, that both the Mock Turtle and Tweedle Dee had moved in closer to her, on either side, flanking the Duchess and protecting her.

She wondered whether they protected her because of a sense of duty, or because they truly _wanted_ to. Because they loved her.

((the same could be applied to alice))

Sakura turned away, crossing her arms over her chest, and pushed through the last ring of trees, into the clearing. Almost immediately, she had to duck beneath a flying kettle — she was surprised to see that it didn't shatter against the tree bark, and that the March Hare managed, in fact, to catch it — he tugged back his arm and pitched it back, with such terrible force. It shattered upon the back of the Mad Hatter's chair, and she was surprised to see it was _Sasuke_ flinging the tea cups.

Gaara stormed over, almost immediately, face betraying rage. "What are you doing? That's _my_ thing."

"Don't be so _petty_, March Hare," Sasuke hissed in return, eyes simmering with fury, "Everyone needs to throw tea cups _once_ in a while. Especially, it seems, when they have _lost_ all the guests at their tea party."

Gaara's eyes widened in understanding, and just a smudge of disbelief crossed his face — he swept over to the table, picked up the lid of every kettle and poured the contents onto the white cloth. Some emptied out tea, others murky brown water — some coffee, and the rest _nothing. _It took Sakura a moment to work out what he was looking for; she crossed the room, placing a hand on Sasuke's shoulder — the other flinched, turning on her almost immediately, hands gripping her shoulders so tightly that she was unsure of what to do, at first.

Her hand moved to cup his cheek, instinctively, and he quietened, the anger ebbing away. "Brave Hatter," she murmured, and Sakura felt as though it were _Alice_ doing all the talking, "Where have my noble knights gone — the knights of _this_ long table? Where is my Dormouse? Where is my White Rabbit? Where is _Naruto?"_

"…gone." Sasuke replied, and his face fell — in fact, he looked awful, terrible, as if he were about to scream in frustration and sadness and _loneliness. _"Both gone."

"Where to, Sasuke?" She asked, and it was then that Sakura realised that Alice had never _once_ spoken — it had been _her_, all along, because she was using their _names_, "_Who _took them?"

"The Red Castle," he responded, automatically, "The Cheshire Cat came here and snatched the Dormouse away. He had… He had a bell around his neck. The Queen of Hearts turned him into her domestic _pet. _And the Rabbit — stupid, stupid _Naruto _— I think they got him before that, before the meddlesome cat appeared here. Either way, unless we help them escape tonight, they are _both_ dead. The Queen will not let them fade away. He will kill them before they can do so — because, if they can fade away, they can _escape_ the Queen."

Sakura fell silent.

Distantly, she became aware of _everything_ — of the White Rabbit's plight, of the Dormouse's danger; of Sasuke's sorrow, because he just didn't want to lose anyone, not anymore; of the March Hare's desperation, because, despite having heard the truth, he was _still_ searching each and every kettle for a sign of his little Dormouse; of what was being placed on her now. The decisions she had to make, in the next few seconds. She could feel eyes on her back; Karin, watching her closely, seeing if she was truly a worthy person to follow — Juugo, never judging, just silently smiling, urging her onwards — Suigetsu, that same little smile plastered across his face, because he _knew._

And Kakashi…

The Caterpillar was smiling.

She was certain of it.

She turned to face them, looking from person to person, and then she smiled. "We're… we're hardly fit for a huge battle. I may have my silver pistol, and the Hatter may have his… well, his _hat_… but, still, this isn't going to be something huge. We're not rescuing them. We're looking for the Vorpal sword, and…"

She trailed off.

Juugo's eyes were encouraging.

Sakura smiled, "And we're going to save them."

**.**

**.**

He wore a mask.

A porcelain thing, fragile and pale, with a single splash of crimson paint — or was it blood? — on the left cheek; his hair fell down his back, shagged, black, staining his pure white suit — ironic, _really_ — and making it look oh so messy. _Tainted. _He step, step, step, _stepped_ through his castle, hands swinging by his side, eyes glittering behind the mask — and he watched, absently, disinterestedly, as his servants bowed — one, two, three, _four_, like a wave.

He ignored them.

The Queen of Hearts came to a halt outside two large doors, each reaching the ceiling or the sky or something equally as high — and he paused, sorting out his collar, his tie, his sleeves, his shirt, before pushing open the door. He stayed where he was, framed by the light spilling through the doorway, as he gazed upon the scene — the White Rabbit was knelt down at his feet, a single pale hand forced him to bow his head, hands tied behind his back. His gaze flickered across to the other prisoner, imprisoned in a cage usually meant for birds, sat sprawled dejectedly on the floor of the little golden cage.

The Queen's lips split into a grin.

"You've outdone yourself, Knave," he murmured, and he began to walk, step step stepping again, his footsteps echoing throughout the hall as he strode towards the two traitors. "This is particularly… _interesting."_

He slowed to a halt.

The Knave simply smiled, before jerking the Rabbit's head upwards, fingers laced in golden hair — a thin, steady trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were narrowed, determined. It was admirable, truly it was — this undying loyalty for Alice. He had seen it in the eyes of his beloved Caterpillar, just before he had sliced through the man's cheeks with his sword, letting the traitor live simply because that dratted _cat_ helped him disappear. He had seen it in the eyes of the Duchess, though he had not recognised it for what it was at the time — he had been too blinded by his love for her.

He had seen it in the eyes of the Cheshire Cat.

And now, there it was, glimmering in the sky-blue eyes of the White Rabbit. They were awfully pretty eyes, he thought, and he reached forwards with one hand, not quite realising what it was he was doing — his fingers brushed against the boy's cheek. The traitor didn't flinch. No, he stayed tall, upright, _proud_, bleeding splendidly onto the floor. There was a wound in his shoulder, too, but the Queen didn't ask — no, his gaze flicked to the golden pocket watch looped from the boy's shirt pocket.

"…that's a nice watch," he spoke, coolly, eyes flickering up absently to meet the eyes of the White Rabbit, "Do you mind if I… take a look?"

He didn't wait for a reply.

Before the Rabbit could even protest — or struggle — or do _anything_ —, the Queen's fingers closed around the gold chain, and he tugged it away; he smiled, ever so slightly, holding it up so that the last bit of sunlight reflected of the gold, causing the watch to sparkle and shimmer and almost _glow. _Oh, how _pretty. _He tossed it over his shoulder, casually, listening to the shatter of glass and the clatter of the object hitting the floor. Then, ever so slowly, he turned, picking it up — inspected the fine, beautiful crack, zig-zagging through the glass — and then held the watch out, letting it dangle in front of the White Rabbit's face.

"Whoops. I _broke_ it."

He dropped it down into the Rabbit's lap, watching as his face fell at the sight of the broken watch — and then the Queen's own face split into a grin, and he nodded, once, quickly. Yes, the Rabbit would be _easy_ to break. They didn't have long — oh, the sun was a constant reminder of that, as it vanished behind the horizon — and they were running out of time, but the White Rabbit would certainly be easy to twist and taint and destroy. Who knew?

Perhaps the Queen could tell the story of the White Rabbit from _before_ — the girl with the hair like buns and the trusting smile and the pretty, pretty, _pretty_ scream.

Ho, hum.

He had all evening.

All _night._

He crossed over to the Dormouse's cage — oh, that _rude_ mouse, he was _sleeping!_ — and frowned, ever so slightly. The Dormouse cracked open an eye, ears twitching, nose wrinkling in distaste, but made no effort to move, to sit up, to stand. Oh, how _insolent. _The Queen was quite furious. Off with his head. Off with his _head!_

"Ah, your Majesty," the Dormouse spoke, softly, through tired lips, "It would be wrong of me to say it is _nice_ to meet you, but it is certainly _something. _Troublesome, I think, best fits the situation."

The Queen didn't reply. Instead, he placed he gripped the cage easily in one hand, using the other to unlock the tiny golden door, and shook the mouse out onto his hand. He fell, head over heels, landing in a little pile in the palm of his hand, and the Queen of Hearts gazed down at him, expression blank. He tilted his head. He stared. He waited, and he thought, and he watched the little mouse tug his legs beneath him and gaze up at him, through lazy, insolent eyes. He watched the tail swing round and round and round, like clockwork, tick-tick-ticking, like the broken pocket watch.

His lips pulled into a grin.

"Perhaps, Sir Mouse, we ought to play a _game_," the Queen spoke, clearly, proudly, "A game of _chess. _For every piece you lose, for every false move you make, I'll chop off your tail and feed it to my pretty kitty. For every piece you _capture_, the White Rabbit will lose bits of his ears. And, heaven forbid you manage to win — for, if _you_ win, I shall kill that rabbit. And if _you_ lose, I shall kill _you. _Does that sound fair to you?"

The Dormouse shook his head mutely.

"_Good."_

The Queen of Hearts smiled.

"Shall we _begin?"_

**.**

**.**

Elsewhere, in the Castle, the Jabberwocky sat beside the Vorpal blade — the only thing he was afraid of — and stared at his fingers. He traced each and every contour of his hand, with his eyes, seeing the pale skin and imagining _red. _Everywhere he looked, blood dripped, splattering the table he was sat at, the window he looked through, the food he ate, the wines he drank. He saw it splattering across the mismatched eyes of the cat he vaguely recognised.

The black, hateful eyes of the Hatter he _loathed._

He thought back upon the White Queen — the girl who thought _he_ was the Red Queen; what a _fool_ — and let out something akin to a sigh. He thought of the boy with the golden hair and the floppy ears, and wondered what had happened to the startled rabbit — wondered whether he was dead yet; wondered when the Jabberwocky would be called to kill him. He thought upon his duty. To defend the Queen of Hearts.

To die trying.

To die succeeding.

Either way, to _die._

He was the Jabberwocky — the false Red Queen — Uchiha _Itachi. _He had killed many — his parents, his family, his _brothers_, in a way — to get to where he was; he had forced those he loved to do things they never should have had to do. He had made choices. He had made mistakes. Awful mistakes. They would haunt him forever.

"Do not forget, Jabberwock," he murmured, his voice low and quiet, "That you are not the one who has to _pay."_

He looked up.

The Queen of Hearts.

He…

_He_ has to pay.

Alice.

She…

_She _has to pay.

They _all_ have to pay.

**.**

**.**

The Mad Hatter ran with Alice upon his back. The wind tore through their hair — pink and black, it matched, but it _didn't_ — and their eyes were narrowed with concentration — green and black, it matched, it _did. _They suited each other, her with her arms wrapped around him, her mismatched stockings, her pretty dresses — him with his arms clutching her legs tightly, his signature hat, his jumbled coat. They suited each other. They _completed_ each other.

Perhaps, possibly, because they were both entirely _mad._

Oh yes.

Alice and her Hatter were positively _insane._

But Sakura and her Sasuke _weren't_ — they were grim and determined; and although their counterparts thirsted for blood, for revenge, for the Vorpal sword, they wanted nothing more than to have their friends back. He had to complete his party. After all, what was a party with no guests? What was a tea party with no tea? What was a _mad_ tea party with no tea, no quests and no _madness?_

Where had his oddities gone?

The Queen had captured them.

And so, of course, Alice and the Hatter would bring them back, to where they belonged, by their side. Alice and the Hatter would fight against the Red, because the Red deserved to _die_ for all the pain they'd caused — and they would battle valiantly against the Queen of Hearts, because that was what had to be done. They would fight. Alice and the Hatter.

Alice and her _Mad_ Hatter.

**.**

**.**

_sakura and her _sasuke

**

* * *

****notes**3******: **just to clear something up — itachi is the jabberwocky. not the red queen. the red queen — queen of hearts, whatever — never leaves the red castle, and instead uses a… fake queen, which is his beloved jabberwock.  
**notes**4**:** please review! thank you muchly. :)


	8. sept: bathe the world in crimson

**project: **masquerade**  
disclaimer: **i do not own naruto.**  
chapter: **sept: bathe the world in crimson confetti

**notes**1**: **i love this chapter.  
**notes**2**: **check out _lucky 13_, my new sasusaku fic! :D

**.**

**.**

—hickory dickory dock,  
_the mouse ran up the clock_

**.**

**.**

The Red Castle was extremely beautiful.

Too beautiful, some might say, for such a vile Queen — too wonderful for such an ugly, unsightly creature to roam the corridors, to dine in the grand hall, to spiral and dance in the ballrooms. Each and every wall was a deep, rich crimson, the colour of blood glistening upon the floor of a battlefield — when the sun hit the windows, a pale red shadow was cast upon the ground below, bathing everyone around it in a pool of red. The grass about the Castle seemed to have been bleached of colour and there were no plants, no bushes, no flowers — only a single tree grew beside the castle, reaching high, high, high into the sky; the Tumtum tree.

Once upon a time, the roses which fell from the tree were both pure, startling white _and_ deep, deep red — but now the Queen paints _all_ of the roses red. Painting over that which was ugly, for him, was the same as painting over that which was _pure._

Beautiful.

Oh yes, the Red Castle was truly exquisite.

It was magnificent, with tall, spiralling towers, which stretched high into the sky — so high, that they seemed to dwarf even the clouds. The blood-red looked as though it were a stain splashed across the sky; as if it wished to paint even the clouds crimson red, because the Queen wasn't quite happy with simply destroying all that was beautiful on the ground. No, the sky wasn't the limit for him — not at all.

He wanted it _all._

All of Wonderland.

Absently, stood opposite the Castle, shrouded by the safety and comfort of the trees around her, Sakura wondered if the Queen would get it all — if he would manage to take and take and take, and even Alice and her merry men wouldn't be able to stop him. She glanced about her — first at the March Hare, who had fallen silent after his outburst of frantic movement at the tea party; he was cold, but _electric_, all at once — a blinding flurry of static electricity, which threatened to overwhelm them all. He was so tense, so close to breaking, so unbelievably _cold. _He hadn't spoken a word, not since the Mad Hatter had explained what had happened.

No, Gaara stood tall and strong, and _silent. _

Beside her, the Duchess wasn't quite as silent — she had turned, bunching her dress up in her hands, whispering lowly to her two loyal subordinates — _friends_ — stood at either side of her. Suigetsu bent forwards first, expression carefully blank as red lips moved, murmured, so close to his ear — so close, that he could feel her breath tickling his cheek. So close, Sakura wondered, that it was quite amazing he hadn't fallen in love; but Juugo was smiling, watching them, his gaze every now and then flicking across to her.

He caught her eye, then, and offered her a smile.

She tried to return his smile, but found that she couldn't quite do it — the butterflies in her stomach threatened to overwhelm her, and so she simply settled for a little nod of her head, tearing her gaze away from him to look at the Caterpillar. He was so relaxed, that she found herself quite envious of him — his posture was slouched, and his eyes were skimming across the pages of his little orange book, one hand fingering absently with a badge pinned to his coat. He glanced up at her, sensing her gaze. He didn't smile; instead, he merely nodded, eyes cold and calculating, and she wondered if Gaara was at all that paranoid — if it was in fact _her_, being naive; the Caterpillar didn't seem like the best of all people to trust.

((like that dratted _cat_, she thought, and found herself scowling))

A hand fell upon her shoulder.

She glanced backwards, ever so slightly, tilting her head; and she found that a smile easily escaped across her lips, this time, at the mere sight of his face. Although he wasn't smiling, he seemed less tense than the others — static and _alive. _He brought out the Alice in her. His eyes were dark, dark, _dark_ and oh so _mad_ — they span and span and span, glittering black and red and black and red, circling and circling until it made her feel quite dizzy.

He spoke, then, his voice soft, but it echoed inside her head and filled her world.

"It is time to paint the roses _white_, again."

Sasuke reached out, then, cupping her face — his thumb brushed against her chin. His eyes never left hers. It felt tender, wonderful, beautiful, but _dangerous. _Because something, _something_, lurked beneath the surface, and she couldn't quite understand it. She nodded anyway, and he spoke again, hand leaving her face and, inwardly, she cursed the lack of contact.

"We're _ready."_

And she knew she was too.

She nodded, then, green eyes flickering to the Red Castle before her — and she lifted a hand, finger pointing carefully, steadily, at the building.

"It is time to march, merry men."

**.**

**.**

"Little rabbit, little rabbit — would you like to hear a story?"

The Queen of Hearts bent forwards, doubling over fully as he peered at his prisoner — blue eyes widened in surprise, and then the boy cringed backwards, looking very much as if he wanted nothing more than to scramble away from the Queen. Awful, really — he wasn't all that bad a person, if only that darn rabbit were to look _deep_ inside. Pathetic, truly — how such a pretty, pretty creature couldn't afford to look past white suits and white masks and red, red, red dreams — but the Queen simply smiled.

He was waiting for an answer.

The Knave seemed to realise that; he moved forwards, footsteps echoing, one, two, three, in the silence — there was a dull thud, and then the rabbit was sprawled across the floor, a nasty bruise forming on his cheek. It grew and spread like a stain. Behind his mask, the Queen's smile quirked downwards, and he raised a hand, stepping forwards.

The Knave sprang backwards as if he had been burnt, one hand flying to his glasses, pushing them up his nose — a sign of nerves, perhaps? — as he waited for the Queen to speak. He stayed silent, for a moment, before opening his mouth. "You may _leave_, Mr Knave. Your presence here has truly been appreciated, by both myself and this darling rabbit — however, I'm awfully certain we may be expecting visitors, rather shortly."

The other smiled.

"I shall make the Castle presentable, your Majesty."

"Do hurry," the Queen spoke, with an exaggerated sigh. "It would be just like Alice to arrive far too early."

The Knave nodded again, before turning, leaving the room with a one-step, two-step, three-step, four, until the Queen could hear nothing more of him. Instead, his gaze flickered back to the rabbit, still lying upon the floor — he hadn't moved an inch. He seemed quite frozen in fright. He felt his lips quirk downwards once again, and he crouched, reaching out to press his thumb gently against the bruise — blue eyes flickered up to meet red, before falling back to the floor again, and the Queen saw that the rabbit was biting the inside of his cheek, waiting for the worst to happen.

Well, he didn't want to disappoint, now, did he?

He pressed his thumb down a little harder, watching as the other winced — as he did so, he turned his head sideways, tilting his head ever so slightly and staring at the other. Watching and waiting for anything. For a sign of weakness. The thumb pressed harder and harder, and the bruise began to spread; the White Rabbit's eyes narrowed, only slightly, and he let out a sharp breath — the Queen smiled.

He pressed and pressed — and, finally, the rabbit cried out, jerking his face away, pushing himself backwards; letting himself lose. Behind him, there was a clank of something hitting metal, and the little Dormouse let out a cry of outrage — a garbled string of words, no doubt following the general idea of how the Queen should hurt _him_, that little creature; not this big, beautiful rabbit, spread so prettily across the floor, eyes glistening with hurt and pain and fright and _fury._

He flapped a hand in the Dormouse's general direction, however, gesturing towards the chessboard positioned in front of the other; but his eyes never left the White Rabbit, not even as he spoke. "It is your move, little mouse. Think carefully. Remember our deal."

Then he leant forwards.

The White Rabbit cringed backwards, and the Queen could not help himself — he let out a laugh, a deep chuckle, which echoed through the hall. It seemed to fill the room. Fill the silence. Fill the everything.

"I shall tell you a story, Mr Rabbit."

"…and if I — I don't want to hear it?"

"I'm sure you will," the Queen replied, easily, clearly. "It's an awfully exciting story — about a pretty little girl. She too had a white tail, white ears — pretty, pretty eyes, just like yours, I suppose — but not as beautiful. Brown eyes, not blue. A shame, really; your eyes are much prettier. I would quite like to see them glistening with tears. I would quite like to see your face contorted with pain."

There was silence.

"I wonder, will you scream as nicely as she did?"

**.**

**.**

_the cheshire cat sits curled upon the tumtum tree, tail twitching as he gazes down at the ground below him. a hand reaches for the collar clipped around his neck, and his brow furrows — he remembers something, if only for a fraction of a second, but the memory vanishes as quickly as it comes. he thinks it was a boy. he cannot completely remember. but he does remember the dormouse, with his quick ears and his quicker tongue, and he wonders whether he has done the right thing._

_he wonders whether the tricksy cat has played it all a trick too far._

_his eyes move to the sky._

"…and who will die tonight, i wonder?"

_but there is no reply._

_((and, up above, the jabberwocky watches on in silence))_

**.**

**.**

The Jubjub Bird brushed her fingers through her air — ink-blue locks shone underneath the glow of the candles, and her eyes were blank, as she tugged her fingers through her hair. One, two — one, two — she combed away, tugging at tangle after tangle; her hair fell long past her shoulders, blue-black, the colour of the night sky. She stood where she was, for a moment, gazing at herself in the mirror; seeing the cascading waves fall across her bare skin, splaying across her bare chest, tickling her goose-pimples.

She heard a door slide open.

"…_beautiful,_" she heard him whisper, and her lips tugged into a smile — she reached forwards, grasping at make-up, painting her lips blood red, the colour of death and sin, outlining them were charcoal black.

"Bandersnatch."

Arms curled around her stomach, her torso, gripping her tightly — his fingers danced across her naked flesh, and she gazed at his features in the mirror. His skin was calloused; his fingertips were rough, oh so painfully rough, from clutching the oversized blade which hung by his side — the bottom half of his features had been hidden, a wad of material pressed over his lips and nose; but his eyes were gentle. They were oh so wonderfully gentle, contrasting with the rest of his appearance; they made her smile.

They made her love him all the more.

"I've told you," he whispered, his words breezing against her cheek as he moved closer to her, arms encircling her body. "There's no need for such formalities between… _friends._"

"Don't tease me so," she replied, lowering her voice to match his, biting her crimson lips, arching an eyebrow at his reflection, "Or I'll have to pull on my big girl gloves — and you won't like me as much, then."

"That's because I'll _love_ you."

She laughed.

He raised an eyebrow, smiling beneath his mask — just two killers, they were, holding each other and laughing, oh the irony — oh, how God _had_ to be laughing with them, _at _them, now.

Because this was nice.

Wonderful.

His expression turned dark.

"There is death in the air, Anko."

She didn't reply, and the conversation lapsed into silence — she moved away, then, pulling away from his clutching hands, moving over to her wardrobe. He stood in silence, eyes following her across the room, not bothering to look away, even as she began to pull on her undergarments — not that she minded, of course. Stood there in suspenders and stockings, it felt so beautifully _normal _— a little bit of life, mixed in with all the danger and the Queen. She pulled on a white shirt, with flowing sleeves, and then a corset, beckoning him over to tighten it; he did so silently, before moving away again. Paired with tight trousers and thick, chunky black boots, she was ready.

He was ready, too.

They'd both sensed it.

She spoke then, finally, reaching a hand out to him.

"We _are_ death, Zabuza."

"So it would seem," he replied, placing his hand in hers — the other fell to his sword, brushing casually against its length — feeling the sharpness of the blade, as a bead of blood welled up on his index finger. "The Gryphon was calling for us."

Anko flashed him a scowl. "The Gryphon is _always_ calling for you — sometimes, I believe he's the only person you could love more than me. It makes me _jealous."_

Zabuza laughed.

"There's no need for you to be — the Gryphon is a part of _me. _He is I, and I am him. We are _one_."

The Jubjub Bird's scowl darkened, and she crossed her arms over her chest, pulling away from him and moving towards her wardrobe. She busied herself, searching for the sharpest of weapons, purposefully ignoring him, in the hope he would _vanish_ — but he stayed where he was, still grinning behind that awful mask, still watching her. He stayed still, even as she pulled out her trusty pistol and tucked it up her sleeve. He remained impassive, even as she strapped her katana to her back, the blade curved and wicked.

His eyes met hers, as she turned.

"But you are correct."

She raised an eyebrow.

"The Gryphon _always_ calls for me — almost as loudly as _you_ do."

This time, he stretched his hand out to her.

"But your voices sound _perfect _together_."_

**.**

**.**

"We need to _move. _All at once. We have the element of surprise—"

"—don't count on that," Kakashi cut across, glancing absently up from his book, his face impassive and his voice disinterested. "The Queen will know. He _always_ knows."

Sakura frowned, glancing across at him.

"And what do you suppose we do?"

And Kakashi smiled.

"We catch ourselves a kitty-_cat."_

**.**

**.**

The Mad Hatter stepped into the clearing, one hand absently playing with the brim of his hat, as he made his way towards the Red Castle. He walked briskly, with a purpose, but his shoulders were tense and his eyes were constantly moving — looking from the drawbridge, to the Tumtum tree, and back again, searching for any signs of movement. Careful, careful — he had to be awfully _careful. _

It was all part of Alice's plan, after all.

He noticed movement — a flicker behind one of the Castle's windows — and his eyes narrowed; tilting his head, he gazed up at the window, waiting for the figure to move. His features were bathed in shadow, but that stance — that _everything_ — it _reeked_ of the person he loathed most of all. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes never leaving the other; they stared at one another, still, silent, statues marred with scars. Sasuke felt his lips curl into a long, long grin, and his hand reached for his hat, plucking it easily off his head — he tugged his arm backwards, as his hat turned into a deadly weapon — and then, with a casual swing, he tossed it through the air. The blades glittered in the sunlight.

It span and span, spinning towards the window and the figure stood taunting him behind it; and then there was a crash of breaking glass, and it fell like rain from the window, tinkling down towards the ground. The figure — his _brother_, for that was all he could be — moved, then, lightning fast; and the Vorpal sword, so familiar, so _deadly_, rose, slicing through the hat so easily that Sasuke felt his heart sink.

"My _hat."_

"What a waste," a voice agreed, from behind him, and he scowled. "And it was such a _lovely_ hat, as well."

He would have turned, then, but he felt something soft — something _furry_ — loop over his shoulder, beginning to curl around his neck. He didn't have to look down to know it was the tail of the Cheshire Cat.

"…what a dirty trick," the Hatter spoke, finally. "I'm defenceless, can't you see?"

"Oh, you're _never_ defenceless, Mr Hatter. I suppose you're here to get your rabbit back, hm?"

"You would suppose right."

"You'll be too late," the Cheshire Cat replied, and his voice actually sounded sad. "I've heard the Queen quite likes him — you'll _never_ get him back, because the Queen _never_ shares. I _did_ tell the rabbit he was looking awfully lost. So are _you_, Hatter."

For a moment, Sasuke didn't reply. He let the tail tickle his chin; let it curve around his neck, looping like a noose — his fingers didn't move even once. No, instead, he kept his gaze on the window up above — because his brother had moved, now, and, with the glass of the window gone, Sasuke could see his features. He could see the familiar, sloping nose; the dark, dark eyes; and those scars, each one on his cheek — he could see the long, black hair, trickling over his shoulder like ink dripping down a page.

Oh, the dreaded Jabberwocky certainly didn't look like much.

But that Vorpal sword, clutched in his hand — _that_ was something Sasuke feared. It was something _everyone_ feared, bar Alice; and that's because Alice was _brave. _Braver than any man — any mouse — any cat — any rabbit — any _hatter. _Oh, Alice was the bravest of them all.

His eyes narrowed.

He didn't have time to hang around here. It was time he killed the Jabberwocky.

"Cat, if I knock quite politely, will you let me in?"

He could feel — no, he could _sense_ — the other's grin grow and grow and grow. The tail tightened, pulled hard, and Sasuke dropped to his knees, playing the part of a broken doll — playing the part of a weak little hatter, when, in reality, he would sooner tear the tail from the kitty-cat's body, than let himself be killed by it.

Oh, how embarrassing _that_ would be.

"If you say _please._"

Sasuke frowned.

"…please."

"Very well, Hatter," the Cheshire Cat spoke, and the world began to fade — slowly, gradually — and his voice became distant, echoing from very far away; there was a rushing, pounding at his ears, and he wanted to press his hands against his head, but he found he couldn't move at all. "As you wish."

The Cheshire Cat vanished.

And, with him, so did the Mad Hatter.

**.**

**.**

"_now, mr caterpillar?"_

"_not just yet, sakura. it's rude to arrive too early to a party."_

"_but we wouldn't want to be late."_

"_oh, that's quite true. the white rabbit would be awfully _mad_."_

**.**

**.**

the clock struck _one_—

**.**

**.**

Shikamaru pressed his fingertips together, gazing at the chessboard in front of him; his tail hung limply by his side, bleeding heavily — already, he'd lost five pieces; all necessary, he'd decided, in the long run; because he was going to _draw. _He was going to bring the game to a tie, and then what would that wicked Queen do — because, looking at his own rules, nothing would happen. They'd be wounded, yes, but they'd get away _free. _

With their _lives. _

Still, his breathing was shallow and he felt as though he'd faint long before he could do such a thing — and, as he glanced across to the side, he could see Naruto was faring only slightly better. He'd only captured three of the Red Queen's pieces, but the bastard had been slow and cruel as he sliced off the tip of his friend's long, white ears — they were stained red with blood, now.

Oh, it was all so _unfair._

"It's your move, little mouse," the Queen spoke, with a smile. "It's rude to keep a friend waiting."

"It would seem you're not a friend, then," Shikamaru replied, easily, but stood up anyway — he walked easily across the chessboard, hands tucked into his pockets, before gazing at a pawn. He frowned, tilting his head ever so slightly, looking at the various pieces surrounding it — and then, slowly, he pushed it forwards a space.

The Queen blinked behind his mask.

"It looks to me as if you're _stalling._"

"Ah, it's an easy mistake to make, your Majesty," the Dormouse replied, with a soft yawn, making his way back to his earlier seat. "In reality, I suppose I'm just scared."

"That can't be at all reassuring for our little rabbit to hear you say."

Shikamaru snuck a sideways glance at Naruto. The other looked smaller than he'd ever looked before; no colour — no sunshine, no _nothing. _It was almost as if he had been drained of all hope — and he felt his heart sink. Absently, he found himself looking for the pocket watch — the White Rabbit's trusty pocket watch — but it lay broken on the floor, in front of its owner. And the Dormouse wondered whether they were running out of time.

He heard the scrape of a piece being moved across the chessboard.

There was a clatter of a pawn dropping to the table.

"Ah, whoopsie daisy — it would seem you've lost another pawn, mouse," the Queen spoke, reaching across the table and clutching the Dormouse's tail — he winced as he was pulled through the air, where he was then held up unceremoniously in front of the Queen of Hearts. "You're awfully silly. I'm afraid I'll have to take another bit of your tail, because of such a stupid mistake. Of course, I _am_ willing to cut a deal."

He tried not to look too interested.

"In return for your life, I'd like it very much if you killed that darling _rabbit."_

Shikamaru frowned. "Can't we come to a compromise?"

"Of course not!"

"What a troublesome thing to say," the Dormouse yawned, trying his hardest not to show his discomfort — oh, how his tail _burned_ — oh, how it _hurt!_ "I'm afraid I can't agree to that deal."

And then he was flying through the air, eyes wide in surprise, as he thudded across the table top; he only just managed to shield his face with his hands, and he landed awkwardly on his right arm — he swore he heard a crunching noise, the sound of bones snapping. He only just managed to pull himself to his feet. The Queen's expression was hidden by his mask, but the Dormouse was quite willing to bet that the other was frowning — gingerly, he attempted to move his arm; it hung limply, painfully, by his side.

Ah, definitely broken, then.

This time, when his gaze met the White Rabbit's, he saw that Naruto's eyes were quite gratefully. Silly rabbit — had he thought he'd accept such an awful, troublesome deal?

But the Queen of Hearts was less than amused.

"Hurry along then, _rat _— hurry along to your pretty little funeral. You're going to _die_, now — a hero's death, perhaps, maybe — but you'll die nonetheless."

The Queen smiled.

"And there's nothing at all you can do to change that."

**.**

**.**

"Where _is_ my darling Hatter," Alice fretted, hands clasped in front of her as she walked to and fro, biting her lip. "Oh, where on earth has he gotten to?"

"Perhaps he's gotten lost," the Caterpillar ventured.

"No," the March Hare disagreed. "He's having _fun._"

"Messing around, more like," the Duchess snapped, with a little frown. "I don't think he realises that we've got so little time."

"That much is true," Tweedle Dee agreed. "We don't have much time at all."

"I suppose you could say we're running out of time," the Mock Turtle continued. "And what will happen when it's all gone?"

"Ah," Alice finished, with a sigh. "But that doesn't at all answer my question—

**.**

**.**

_the jabberwocky stands beside the broken window, gazing out at the courtyard below — he is clutching the vorpal blade so tightly that it bites into the palm of his hand, and oh, how it hurts. but he stays still as a statue, eyes ever so slightly narrowed, but his expression impassive otherwise — and he waits._

_he should have known that that dratted cat would betray them._

_such a tricksy individual._

_now, he is just waiting for the mad hatter; because, no matter what alice has asked him to do, his little brother will inevitably be drawn towards him — no matter how many lives could be saved, if he did otherwise. he will be there soon enough._

_they will fight._

_still, he cannot help but wonder— _

**.**

**.**

—where on _earth_ is my darling Hatter?"

—_where on earth is that dratted hatter?_

**.**

**.**

"…twinkle, twinkle, little bat — how I wonder what you're at."

The Hatter sang, as he pulled that annoying Cat along behind him — dragging the other by the tail, oh, how that must _sting_, but the silly kitty had walked straight into the Hatter's fist, so he was hardly to blame.

"Up above the world so _high_—"

The Cheshire Cat let out a little groan.

Absently, the Hatter kicked him in the ribs.

"—like a tea tray in the sky."

He came to a halt just outside the grand double doors, which opened out onto the grounds below; if he opened them, Alice would step inside, and they would save the White Rabbit together. But, as he gazed out of the window next to him, he could see the tower — the tower where his brother had stood, where the glass was shattered, where his wondrous hat had been sliced so horribly in half — and he found himself quite torn.

If he were to let Alice in, he might miss his chance to slay that Jabberwocky.

His fingers danced across the lever, which would lower the drawbridge.

"…twinkle, twinkle… little bat…"

With a little sigh, he pulled it open.

After all, the White Rabbit was screaming for him.

"…how I wonder what you're _at."_

**.**

**.**

**M**

**A**

**S**

**Q**

**U**

**E**

**R**

**A**

**D**

**E**

**.**

**.**

_and one by one, the merry band danced across all of wonderland  
and two by two, the merry band danced to the sound of time falling apart_

**.**

**.**

Upon reaching the Red Castle, and stepping through the gates, Sakura was pretty surprised to see that they were met with no resistance; the Cheshire Cat, unconscious, with a slight bruise forming across his right cheek, lay motionless beside the lever, where the Hatter had unceremoniously dumped him. She found her spirits rising, however, the moment her eyes met Sasuke's, and she let herself smile, reaching a hand out for him.

He took it gently.

Her gaze moved across to her followers — the March Hare, so wonderful, so beautiful — the Caterpillar, still reading that awful book of his — Tweedle Dee, his arm still in a sling, but his face so peaceful, smiling so innocently — the Mock Turtle, with his little smirk and his ice-white hair — the Duchess, all red lips and red dresses and red dreams — and her wonderful, wonderful _Hatter. _They weren't ready, not yet; she didn't have any armour, let alone any weapons; and now was not the moment to kill the Queen — now was for stealing the Vorpal sword; for saving the Dormouse and her lovely Rabbit.

But they were as ready as they would ever be.

"Let's _go."_

**.**

**.**

"t'was brillig and the slythy toves  
did gyre and gimble in the wabe:  
all mimsy were the borogroves,  
and the mome raths outgrabe—"

**.**

**.**

He waits.

He waits in the dark, stood silent, stood motionless, the Vorpal sword flashing by his side. He waits, because he spends all his life waiting. He waits, by the broken glass and the tattered hat. He waits for his death. He waits for the Hatter.

He _waits._

Oh, how long he waits!

Beware the Jabberwock, my son — the jaws that bite, the claws that snatch! Beware, my son, for he lurks in the night — and oh how long he _waits._

((for time to run out, perhaps?))

**.**

**.**

The first to go was the Caterpillar.

They had barely turned the first corner, when a shrill, horrid giggling filled the room — it echoed through the hallway, bouncing off the walls and doors. It pierced Sakura's heart and made her blood run cold; and it proved to her, so obviously, how unprepared she was — she was flinching at the easiest of things. Then came the sound of scraping — of metal scratching across the marble floors — and a beautiful, beautiful woman turned the corner.

Beside her, the Duchess grew still.

"_Beware_ the Jubjub Bird!"

Sakura frowned, biting her lip — she noticed how the rest of her party seemed to tense, hands involuntarily flinching towards weapons; and she _wished_ she had something more than her pistol, concealed beneath the folds of her dress. She found herself silent, as she tried to think of something to do — of _anything_ to do — but Kakashi stepped forwards, holding a hand up lazily, smiling.

"Ah, _Anko_ — how nice to see you again," he drawled, with a little wave.

A katana was flung through the air, the blade curved and deadly — it flew just past the Caterpillar's face, and he dropped his hand sheepishly. The sword was jerked backwards, pulled back by the black satin ribbon attached to the handle, yanked back towards their attacker, the Jubjub Bird. Her features were contorted with anger.

"Kakashi, you _traitor,_" she spat, "How _dare_ you return here!"

"In my defence, it wasn't _my_ idea," the Caterpillar shrugged. "If it were up to me, I would never set foot in this dreadful place again."

Sakura wondered if it were just her imagination, but the Jubjub Bird looked _wounded._

"I'll handle this," Kakashi drawled, waving them away. "If you take that doorway, just over there, you'll cut out a good chunk of this maze — and you won't have to sneak past Anko, either."

She blinked, before nodding once, gesturing for the rest to follow her — the March Hare, surprisingly, clapped a hand upon the other's shoulder, murmuring something soft to the other, in a near whisper; and then he too followed, passing past Sakura and slipping through the door. She saw that Kakashi was smiling, a little knowing smile, and she wondered what it was Gaara had said that had made him so happy — after a moment, she decided she didn't need to know. With a little smile, she ducked backwards, continuing the journey.

"Goodbye, Caterpillar."

**.**

**.**

The Cheshire Cat pushed himself upwards, blinking blearily as he gazed about him — everything _hurt_; his head, his face, his arms, his legs — his entire being. He was throbbing, in constant pain, even as he flicked his tail back and forth; his tail _ached. _He'd broken a rib, he was sure of it — that awful Hatter had gone flat-out insane, kicking and singing and singing and _kicking_, and unconsciousness had sort of been a heaven.

Whatever.

He was up and awake now, and the Queen would never forgive him if he simply curled up and felt sorry for himself.

Still, a little cat-nap wouldn't go amiss…

—no! He pulled himself together, shaking his head, ears lying flat on his head; and he sniffed, absently, smelling the Hatter and his Alice — and there, mingled with all those fresh scents, was the smell of the Dormouse, all sad and fearing for his life. And that lost little Rabbit. The Cheshire Cat felt almost bad.

Still, he thought as he began to fade away, it was about time he paid a visit to the Queen.

**.**

**.**

—_the Jubjub Bird is a terrible beauty.  
_((and he mourns the love he lost))

"I will enjoy killing you."

The Jubjub Bird took a step forwards, dragging her katana across the floor behind her — the scraping sound filled the air, metallic and harsh, and the Caterpillar had to resist the urge to snap his book shut and press his hands against his ears. Instead, he settled for a slow, drawling sigh, muffled by his mask, eyes never leaving the page in front of him. He didn't stir, not even slightly — not even as Anko took another step forwards, eyes narrowing, shifting her katana slightly. He didn't move, not even as he heard the noise of a blade slicing through the air; it came to rest just above his book, in front of his nose.

Only then did his eyes flicker upwards.

She looked awfully angry. Furious, in fact. He wondered if he had pushed and pushed and _pushed_ her too far — ignoring her, shunning her, belittling her, in his own little way. Absently, Kakashi wondered if it were too late to apologise. Judging from the hatred shining in her eyes, he decided that yes, it probably _was_ too late.

Oh, he was _always_ too late.

So he settled for a small smile, snapping his book shut with one hand, the other reaching below his coat — because he would go all out against the Jubjub Bird, because he owed her that much, after refusing her so much, time and time and _time _again.

"Oh, Anko — it would have _never_ worked out between us."

She let out a little snarl, and the katana sliced through the air — Kakashi only just managed to duck in time, and wondered why he never quite managed to say the right thing. Anko followed him, jabbing the blade forwards, and he pushed himself backwards, springing through the air and landing easily, supporting himself on the balls of his feet and his fingertips. The two stared at each other — rather, Anko scowled, breathing heavily, hair falling in front of her eyes, and Kakashi tried to work out _why_ it wouldn't have worked out between them.

"We're two complete opposites—"

"—we're _not_ talking about this," Anko hissed, lunging forwards again, slashing out with her katana; this time, Kakashi only just managed to fling himself backwards — and he wondered, absently, why he felt so reluctant to use his weapon.

To fight _back._

…against Anko?

The last time they'd fought, it had been a playful fight. She'd disarmed him, pushed him to the ground, and they'd tumbled and rolled and laughed and shared a moment and—

She swung her blade again, the sword singing as it flashed through the air, and he threw himself up and over her, landing neatly behind her. She was quicker, this time, swinging herself around almost immediately, and slashing out at his back — the blade cut across his skin, shallowly, thank goodness, but it still stung. He let himself fall forwards, rolling immediately as the blade — having been once again flung through the air — clashed with the ground he'd been lying upon just moments before.

This time, before she could tug the katana away, he wrapped his hands around the black ribbon, tugging forwards; she staggered, and he darted forwards, punching outwards — she only just managed to bring her arms up in time to block, and they pushed apart, panting heavily, the pair of them.

He eyed her absently.

Why were they fighting, again, when truly he loved her so?

_((it's an awful thing when you forget who you're fighting for))_

—and none of that changed the fact that he was fighting _against_ her.

This time.

And now was not the moment to be rethinking past decisions.

"It would never have worked out between us, Anko," Kakashi repeated, and he pulled his weapon — a thin, narrow sword, which seemed to crackle and shine with a wonderful sort of _energy_ — from the folds of his coat. "We would have been _perfect_, but it never would have worked."

And, although it hurt his heart to do so, he fought.

**.**

**.**

—_the Bandersnatch is a fearsome warrior.  
_((and shun the frumious bandersnatch))

The second to go was the Duchess, although the Mock Turtle protested quite heartily — because he didn't want her out of his sight; because he _loved_ her.

Not that his protests worked.

The Duchess _was_ a fearful woman, after all — perhaps suited for the Bandersnatch, in her own little way; and it was the least she could do for Alice — for _Sakura_ — she reasoned, as she flung herself forwards, lifting her weapon — her precious ladle — high into the air, before slamming it down upon the Bandersnatch's sword with a resounding crash. His fingers closed around her wrist, but she twisted, breaking easily from his grip. She span again, hitting with the ladle once again, her skirt clinging to her legs and being just a general nuisance — but Zabuza easily stopped her, with a small smile.

"This isn't fair."

Karin sprang backwards, eyes narrowed in determination and _frustration_, as she stared across at the Bandersnatch — he looked unruffled, unaffected, and his breathing had barely changed at all. In fact, he offered her a smirk, as he shifted his blade slightly, balancing the weight across his shoulders — and it was such a ridiculously _big_ sword, as well, to the point where she couldn't help but scoff when she first saw it.

Oh, still, she _remembered_ the Bandersnatch.

He was strong.

Ridiculously so.

She shifted slightly, reaching down and bunching up the bottom of her dress — then, with a tug, she ripped it away, shortening the material and freeing her legs; they were, for lack of better words, her greatest weapon. She didn't usually fight but, when she did, she would swing her ladle with all her might, and then go in for a kick — because that was how she rolled. "_What_ isn't fair," she replied, figuring it was best to humour the other.

"You're a little _girl,"_ Zabuza replied. "_This_ isn't fair."

"Are you afraid you're going to be beaten, _grandpa?"_

He grinned.

"_Hardly."_

**.**

**.**

There was _mist._

Inside a _castle._

It confused and scared Sakura in equal measure, and she found herself pleased as she realised the Hatter was still clutching her hand — more to comfort her, she supposed, than to comfort himself. Or to perhaps stop himself from drowning. She didn't know which; Sasuke was an enigma, when it came to that front — and she liked it. But that wasn't what she should be thinking about; she was in a rush, after all. She had to save Naruto.

Something scratched her cheek — it clattered to the floor just behind her, and she froze, eyes wide in disbelief. Glancing backwards, she saw a thin, sharp needle, with a deadly point — senbon, she realised; they were being _attacked_, from out of the mist.

A hand closed around her wrist.

She only just managed to stop herself from screaming, as she found herself gazing into the eyes of the Mock Turtle.

Suigetsu tilted his head, "…I'll handle this."

"Handle _what_, exactly?" She whispered, keeping her voice low, because she was scared.

He smiled.

"The _Gryphon_ — a deadly warrior, who goes by the name of Haku," Suigetsu paused, for his small smile turned into a full sharp-toothed grin. "I've heard she's _pretty._"

Sakura smiled.

"Go get her, tiger."

"Will do, Alice — you go on ahead. I'll see you when you've got that stupid rabbit, okay?"

And, with a little wave, the Mock Turtle was the next to vanish.

**.**

**.**

Next was Tweedle Dee.

One second, he was there, stood smiling next to them, ever so slightly wary — the next thing Sakura knew, the wall behind them seemed to have exploded, and a monster burst through; a monster in the form of a sickly pale boy, who moved with such speed that she barely even saw him, as he raced towards her. He was carrying a sword, the handle made of pure white bone — human bone, she thought; the bones of the people he'd killed, perhaps? But she saw red, raw wounds across his body, and she wondered if it were perhaps bones from _his own body_, but suddenly the blade was slashing towards her, and she was certain she was going to die—

But suddenly someone was in front of her.

_Juugo._

He caught the attack with his bad arm, letting out a yelp of pain — but his free hand, his good arm, shot out, gripping the attacker's arm and flinging him bodily through the hole he had earlier made. It was speed versus strength.

Juugo's face lit up, with barely concealed joy — and it was such a naive, innocent joy, that Sakura felt her heart throb.

"_Brother!"_

Beside them, Sasuke grew cold.

"Tweedle Dum!"

Tweedle Dum — Juugo's _brother_, she realised, and there were some similarities, she thought, after a while; the shape of the eyes, the slope of the nose, but not many — pulled himself out of the wreckage, coughing into his hand; blood spattered the ground below him, and she saw Juugo falter, pain evident in his eyes. She moved to take a step forwards, but Gaara stopped her, placing a hand gently in front of her; and so she stayed where she was.

Sasuke gripped her hand.

"We need to _go."_

Juugo waved her away.

"It's fine, Sakura," he spoke, voice cheerful but so obviously _fake_, "Brother and I have some catching up to do."

She brushed her hand across his cheek.

"Be _careful_," she whispered, before turning and running, following the Hare and the Hatter, to find the Rabbit.

Tweedle Dee's smile faltered.

"…I'll _try."_

**.**

**.**

The Queen of Hearts gazed lazily at the chessboard, black and white blurring into grey as he rested his head in his hands, waiting for the Dormouse to take his turn; he was growing awfully bored. Every now and then, his stare would stray to the White Rabbit, and he would quirk his head, having already decided upon the outcome of the game — whether the Dormouse won or not, the Rabbit would die; it would be such a _shame_ to miss such a beautiful opportunity.

Still, it would be just as entertaining to see that little _rat_ completely crushed, as he realised everything he'd done had been in vain. He was oh so insolent, yawning as he trekked over to a bishop, and moved him three spaces to the left — the Queen peered at the move, sighed heavily, and then moved his King once to the right; oh, he hadn't been in check, he knew that, but the mouse was stalling, and it was annoying. He would wait for the mouse to slip up, as he had to do so eventually.

And, the moment he did…

Well, the Queen smiled, he'd be _waiting._

"How _fun_," a voice drawled, and the Queen's head jerked to the left — there stood his pretty Cat, collar still in place, a pretty blue-and-black-and-_purple_ bruise forming on his cheek, "How _thrilling."_

"_Cat_," the Dormouse spat.

The Queen found his gaze flickering back to the little mouse, who was quivering in rage — in fact, he was quite angry indeed. The Queen's smile turned thin and cruel, and he lifted the mouse by what was left of his bloody tail, dumping him down on his palm and stepping over to the Cheshire Cat. The other merely quirked an eyebrow, grin never leaving his face.

"_Eat_," the Queen said, holding the mouse out.

And the Cat _hesitated._

It was a slight hesitation, that was true — and then the Cat's paw slashed out, hooking around the Dormouse and lifting him high into the air, kicking and thrashing and scowling, but not making a noise. It was an entertaining sight, that much was sure, but the Queen couldn't ignore that hesitation — and so he snatched the mouse away, with a displeased frown. "I've changed my mind. Eat _later_ — you had news for me?"

"Alice has entered the Castle."

The Queen's blood ran cold.

Absently, he noticed the Rabbit's bloody, torn ears stick upwards, and his face lit up in a brilliant, beautiful smile — it didn't suit him, he thought. He looked much better bathed in red and blood and pain and _hurt. _

Agony was such a wonderful word, after all.

"So _kill_ her, Cat," the Queen replied, before turning back to the chessboard. "Get the Knave and _kill _her. Dispatch the Jubjub Bird, the Bandersnatch, the Gryphon — that sickly Tweedle Dum — and, of course, my beloved _Jabberwocky. _Kill her _dead, _Cat, and do not disturb me again. I have a game to play and guests to entertain. Be on your way."

With a little smile, the Cheshire Cat vanished.

And Alice was on her way.

**.**

**.**

—_the Gryphon cries out oh so loudly.  
_((that even the turtle cannot ignore it))

"Stop shouting."

Haku frowned, gazing across at the Turtle opposite — Zabuza had been the only one to ever hear his cries; not even _he_ himself could hear them; and yet, this insolent _brat_ could? His expression turned blank again, as he inspected his opponent; lanky in build, and too tall — it was almost as if he hadn't quite grown properly into his body. His white hair fell loosely into his eyes, resting on the nape of his neck, and his teeth were abnormally sharp — he reminded Haku of one of the Queen's loyal men, Kisame; the Number Three, if he remembered correctly.

"…you can hear that?"

"You're shouting loudly enough," the Turtle replied, nodding, "So quit it. It's unbecoming of a woman."

Haku blanched.

(This again?)

"I'm a _guy."_

The Mock Turtle looked appalled.

"That's just cruel — I thought you were _hot."_

That was it.

Haku was going to kill him as painfully as possible.

**.**

**.**

—_Tweedle Dum calls out for help.  
_((and tweedle dee cannot answer))

Brothers — they were _brothers_, although sometimes Juugo forgot that. Sometimes, he thought the boy staring back at him was a complete stranger; they had never looked all that similar to begin with, despite being twins. His older brother had been slighter, smaller, gentler, with kinder features and shining eyes — when they were younger, his hair had been a pale shade of red; but then the sickness had gripped hold of him, and he had turned oh so _pale._

A shade of white.

_Deathly_ white.

The Queen had come to both of them, in Wonderland, and offered his brother treatment — _help_ — and he had gladly accepted. In the real world, he was bedridden — he could barely move, and spent much of his time asleep; as a result, he often trekked the world of Wonderland alone. And Juugo wished he could help him.

"Please, brother," he tried, ducking a kick. "_Please_, don't make me fight."

Kimimaro didn't reply.

"_Please_."

"You picked your side," the other replied, eventually, "As I picked mine. Don't act so naive, Juugo — one of us will have to kill the other eventually."

There was a silence.

"I'd prefer it if you killed me, in truth," Kimimaro spoke, carefully, lashing out again with his sword, "After all, if I were to kill you, it would be a waste. I would only die a few months later, no doubt. A complete and utter _waste_ — but you…"

He smiled.

"You can _live._"

"We've discussed this before, the last time we fought," Juugo replied, shaking his head. "I will not _kill_ you. I might hurt you, but that will be an accident! I won't — I won't _kill_ you."

Kimimaro smiled.

"…we'll see."

**.**

**.**

"What have you done to that poor kitty, Mr Hatter? He looked quite _bruised_ when he came to see me — his smile wasn't nearly as bright as usual."

Sasuke's eyes narrowed.

"The _Knave…"_

He wasn't as terrifying as she'd thought he would be; with his snow white hair, pulled back into a ponytail, and his round, large glasses — if it weren't for his crimson armour, already dark with dried blood, she wouldn't have found him scary at all. If it hadn't been for the pure white sword hanging from his hip, she would have said he looked rather like a school librarian. If it hadn't been for his small smirk and his deadly gaze, she would have said he were utterly harmless.

His gaze flickered across to meet her.

"And you must be _Alice. _A pleasure to meet you, of course — I am the Knave of Hearts, although you may call me Kabuto," he paused, before his smile grew wider. "It is only polite, of course, that you give me your name in return."

"…_Ino_," she blurted out, before she could stop herself. "My name is Ino."

He frowned.

"It doesn't suit you. I was expecting something… _prettier. _Like blossom, perhaps—"

And Sakura's blood ran cold.

"—but it doesn't matter, anyway. The three of you — Mr Hare, Mr Hatter and dearest _Ino_ — won't be passing me. This is where your journey ends. I'm sure it was a nice run, Alice, but the Queen will triumph again, and—"

"—and why do you _want_ her to win?" Sakura snapped, before she could stop herself, fists clenched by her sides. "She's trapped you here!"

"_He_," the Knave corrected, absently. "_He's _trapped me here."

"The principle is still the same!"

"I suppose it is," he agreed, before shrugging. "But you've got your facts all wrong, Ino — who says I want the _Queen _to win? Of course, I don't want _you_ to win, either, but that doesn't matter. I'm looking at the much bigger picture — at the _Gateway."_

"…of course," Gaara breathed, before holding up a hand. "Hatter, Alice — you two leave. I will deal with this nuisance."

"Big words, _rabbit_," the Knave smiled.

Gaara frowned.

"I am a _hare_," and, with that, he struck.

**.**

**.**

"We need to hurry," Sakura spoke, gripping Sasuke's wrist, as she tugged him along; she didn't know where she was going, but they had to get there, and get there _quick_, because, if they didn't, then — oh, she didn't want to think about it! But Sasuke was being surprisingly difficult, as he wrenched his arm away from her — she span around, placing her hands on her hips, "If we don't hurry, then—"

"Don't say it_."_

"—he'll _die._"

"I know," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "I _know."_

"Then why have we _stopped?"_

"Because I can't run with you anymore. Because there is someone I must find — I must _kill_ — while I still have the chance. Because you can continue on your _own."_

He raised a hand, as she opened her mouth to interrupt.

Dark eyes stared hard at her.

Her breathing turned ragged.

"Because I _believe_ in you — in Alice — in _Sakura._"

She wanted to thank him, but he shook his head, turning away; he placed a hand in his pocket, raising his left arm lazily as he began to walk away — and she thought he looked so lonely, with his oversized jacket and his mismatched shoes. Like a little boy, wearing the clothes of a man much older than himself. Like a lost little child, screaming out for help. She wanted to run after him, wrap her arms around his waist, tell her she'd help him — see him through _anything_ — but she couldn't; she had a rabbit to save.

And so she turned away.

"Good luck, Hatter."

"I won't need it, Alice — keep the luck for _yourself."_

**.**

**.**

—the mouse fell _down_

**.**

**.**

Triumph.

_Triumph?_

It was impossible. Utterly, entirely impossible. He had been playing to draw, to lose, at worst — he only had three pieces left, yet, each piece was surrounding the enemy King — the pieces were in the one position he hadn't wanted them to be in. Checkmate. _Checkmate._

He had… _won._

Oh no — oh no oh no oh no. Oh dear oh dear oh dear — he had _won, _he had _won_, he had _won, he had won, HE HAD WON, HE HAD WON, AND NOW—_

And now—

And _now—_

The Queen smiled.

"It looks like you've _won_, little Dormouse — oh deary me. That _poor_ rabbit…"

His gaze flickered across to Naruto. Head down, hair across his eyes, fists clenched, bowed over, ears drooping — no, not the Naruto he knew. No cheery grins. No laughter. No sunshine smiles. No — no — _no_, this was so _unfair._

"I'm not — I'm not doing it!"

"If you won't," the Queen smiled, "_I _will."

And he reached across for the bishop.

"Check_mate."_

**.**

**.**

—where _was _he?

Where _was_ the Jabberwocky?

Sasuke ran and ran and ran, coat flapping about him, distantly mourning the loss of his hat — it made him feel so much bigger, so much stronger, and now it was gone. He would have to visit the Lory and ask her to make him a new one. He would do it as soon as Sakura had rescued Naruto — they would have a day off, and he would show her the villages, the towns, her supporters. He would show her the bright side of Wonderland.

Just as soon as she'd rescued Naruto.

Just as soon as he'd killed the Jabberwocky.

And where, oh _where_, was his brother?

Where _was_ Itachi?

He smiled, thinly — a game of hide and seek, was it? Very well, then.

"Ready or _not_ — here I come."

**.**

**.**

He wasn't ready to die.

He would beg and plead, if he had to — screw dignity and pride, he didn't want to die. He had so much, he had so little, and none of it would ever be enough — and there was _more. _Panting and sweating, eyes searching for an escape, any escape, he decided he definitely didn't want to die. Not one little bit — that was a sense of finality he never wanted to feel, never wanted to come across, never even wanted to think about. But he was thinking about it now, because it was looking at him from across the room, in the form of a deadly blade — the Vorpal blade.

It was finality.

Death.

Looking at that blade, he decided he would never beg. Never plead.

Oh, but he wasn't ready to die.

Not now — not so young — not with his skin still so smooth, and his eyes still so fresh; not when he had the entire world to see — _both_ worlds. No, thinking back, he didn't want to die, not one little bit. Not even as he saw the queen topple downwards, as he saw the smile curve across the other's lips, as he heard those last, beautiful, final words — so cruel, so clear; filled with a sense of dread but, at the same time, a cold sense of _nothing._

That _nothing_ would follow.

But _everything_ would.

That nothing made his blood run cold and his heart skip a beat, just for a fraction of a few seconds, and, for a moment, he couldn't begin to think. Couldn't think of anything. Images flashed before his eyes — not his life, per say, but images — people and places; a girl with pink hair and gentle eyes — a boy with hair the colour of fire, burning, burning — and many, many others. An array of colours, at first, so beautiful, so brilliant — then pure, innocent white.

Then _red._

And crimson red eyes.

And a smiling, smiling mouth.

The Vorpal blade rose; it was pressed against his throat, cold and cruel, already biting into his skin, and his eyes flickered up to meet crimson red. He wondered, absently, if they were the eyes of someone he knew well — eyes reflected in the eyes of someone he knew well, perhaps — before deciding it didn't matter. He would die either way.

His pocket watch would stop ticking.

The White Rabbit would stop running.

The Jabberwocky stood silent, strong, impassive.

And the Red Queen laughed.

**.**

**.**

Too late, too _late._

Oh, she was going to be so _awfully_ late.

Her fingers fell to her dress, bunching the material awkwardly up in her fists; and she was running, as fast as she could, pink hair falling into her eyes. She couldn't _stop_ running. Her sword was clutched uncomfortably in one hand, the flat of the blade pressed against her leg, and she wore no armour. She was completely unprepared for the chaos which would surely follow. But that didn't matter, as she knew she was late, so awfully, horribly, terribly, _awfully_ late—

—ahead of her, she saw a pretty ghost rabbit, hopping and jumping and _running_, and she knew she was late, so late, so horribly _late_, when it _vanished_—

She stopped thinking.

Her heart continued pumping and her chest was rising, falling, rising, _falling_, but she wasn't thinking. Because, even as her hands pressed against the grand double doors, even as her sword clattered to the floor, even as she opened her mouth to scream, she _knew_ she was too late.

And her world was bathed in red.

**.**

**.**

"Check—"

And the King topples down.

"—_mate."_

**.**

**.**

—hickory, dickory  
_dock_

**.**

**.**

His lips curved into a smile, and his eyes closed — because now, at least, he knew he would never be late again.

And so Uzumaki Naruto fell.

**.**

**.**

**notes**3**: **did i mention i love this chapter?  
**notes**4**: **& did i mention i should probably be doing drama homework, but i decided not to so that i could finish this? ;)  
**notes**5**: **as always, please read & review!


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